


The Ring

by kriskringle



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriskringle/pseuds/kriskringle
Summary: AU that begins in episode 2x9.Will tells MacKenzie about the origins of the ring. Complete canon divergence from there.Thanks for reading!





	1. Chapter 1

**November 6, 2012**

**11:05 PM**

_"I'm sorry for this, but the ring was a practical joke. You were having the staff vet me, remember? I knew you were going to find the offer from when were together for me to do something on the West Coast and you were going to come into the office waving it and saying, 'Aha! I knew you weren't as serious as you said you were because if you were, you would have told me about an offer you were considering on the other side of the country.' That's what happened."_

Will speaks casually, hoping to set the tone for her reaction. _If I act like it wasn't a big deal, so will she._

MacKenzie starts to speak, swallows hard and seems to come to a decision. She nods her head and walks out, telling him to recap the House and go to Colorado when they come back.

**11:06 PM**

She breathes deeply as she walks, head down, trying to master her emotions. Enveloped in a darkness that will never again be illuminated by fond hope, she forces herself to move forward, surrounded by a thick mist that hides all sights and muffles all sounds. A bone-deep weariness has settled around her shoulders like a lead blanket and all of her reserves have run dry.

She's just so tired. Of Genoa, of not being able to sleep, of the nagging fear that she's destroyed all their careers, not just her own. Of Will's incessant mind games. No longer a worthy opponent, brought low by fear and anxiety and fatigue, all she can do is hazily wonder what happened to the man she loved. 

 _He_  would never have done it. 

 _He_  would never have deliberately bought a ring that seemed to have walked right out of her dreams and presented it to her for the sole purpose of reminding her of what she'd lost.

Does the current incarnation realize she's spent the last two-and-a-half years imagining what that ring would have felt like on her finger? How many hours she's wasted imagining what his expression might have been as he promised to make her his wife? That must have been precisely the reason he'd done it: it had, indeed, been a masterful stroke of revenge.

She looks back over the last three years—hell, the last six—and it all seems to have meant one thing: a striving, and a striving, and an ending in nothing. Despite her despair, she can't help cringing (when did she become so self-conscious, even in front of herself?) when Sir Walter Raleigh's farewell verse bubbles up from the recesses of her mind, a remnant from her Sixth Form history class:

 _"Even such is Time, that takes in trust_  
_Our youth, our joys, our all we have,_  
_And pays us but with earth and dust."_

She should be grateful there are no more disasters to dread and she would be, if only it didn't also mean there was nothing left to hope for.

For the last eight years, all her hopes and dreams have been tied up with Will. After she'd fallen in love with him, she'd hoped to spend the rest of her life loving and working side-by-side with him until he retired, and then she would teach or write or do something that wouldn't require travel, something that would allow her to sit back and enjoy the fruits of the life they would build together: children, grandchildren, a house full of love.

None of those aspirations can be realized now (she can't imagine wanting anyone else's children and Genoa has likely made her unemployable), and without them, what does she have left? Nothing, her mind replies, and she can feel herself slipping into a deep, nullifying blankness.

_What will she do? What can she do without hope?_

There is one thing she can do: she can make sure no one ever gets close enough to hurt her again. She vows to become a complete automaton, moving like a sleep-walker through her life. Her ego rails at her then, ashamed. _Are you going to let someone else define the terms of your life?_ To which she inwardly retorts: _That's exactly what I've been doing, so there's nothing new there. Well, then, isn't it time to stop?_ comes the reply. _Surely it is,_ she thinks wearily, _but at this moment, it doesn't feel like I have a choice._

Luckily, she's still fired. She doesn't know what she's going to do next, and at this point, she doesn't care. In the short term, she'll pack up her office, take her things to her apartment and disappear. She'll find some way to say goodbye to Jim and Sloan and the rest of the team (one that doesn't involve seeing Will), and then it will be over.

As she passes through the bullpen, she takes one last look at the people she loves: Maggie, with her ridiculous hair and relentless optimism, and Don, who's making some snide remark to Neal. She gazes at Jenna and Kendra and all the rest of the team she's worked so hard to build over the last three years. She loves them all and will miss them terribly, but it's time for her to go. She's done all she can, endured all she can. There is nothing more to gain from her presence at ACN, and nothing remains of her future except to endure it.

She tells Jim to take over the broadcast and heads to her office to start packing her things.

She vows she will never see or speak to Will McAvoy again.

**11:13 PM**

Will grouses when he hears Jim's voice in his ear but he knows Mac's pissed, and rightfully so.

He'd hurt her tonight. Brutally. They'd finally constructed a bridge to one another over the embers of their failed romance, and now it's in ruins-felled by a single dick move. What the fuck had he been thinking, telling her about the ring?

 _This was no ordinary argument,_ he thinks with apprehension and shame. _I really fucking blew it this time._

Not only had he told her about the ring (something he'd sworn he would never do), he'd fired her. Actually _fired_ her. She'd played him like a violin and he'd walked right into it. Ordinarily, he'd have seen her machinations from a mile away, but he'd been so distracted by her exhaustion and accusations that by the time she'd trotted out the corker he'd had no choice but to play his part-as scripted.

And then, later-in hair and makeup-he'd rubbed salt in the wound by blandly asking her if she wanted her job back. As if he couldn't care less that this was the end of their working relationship, or that he may never see her again after tonight's broadcast. What the hell had he been thinking, being so blasé about it? He shudders when he realizes that anything can happen now that nothing is fixed or certain anymore. How is he going to walk them back from the precipice? 

Although the obvious solution is to _un_ fire her (he gives not a single fuck what Reese and his mother have to say about it), even that foolproof plan isn't enough to keep the gnawing fear at bay: MacKenzie (being _MacKenzie_ ) will no doubt refuse his offer-slash-order, and then what will he do? Sure, he can hope the firing won't count because he'd done it on a Tuesday instead of Friday, but is he really going to pin his future on a technicality that may or may not go his way?

Something dark settles in the pit of his stomach.

He can't help thinking the ring shenanigans may have cost him more than he's prepared to pay.

**11:20 PM**

Everyone is scurrying about, so no one notices MacKenzie carrying several broken-down boxes into her office. She tapes them up and starts throwing things into them, desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. She hesitates when she comes to a picture of herself and Will that sits on her desk. It was taken the night of the _Rudy_ brigade, mid-hug, at the moment she'd pulled back to look up into his eyes. The flicker of his old desire, the one she'd seen as he'd looked at her, had carried her through the next several months. It had convinced her all wasn't lost, that all she had to do was stay the course and eventually, eventually, they'd be reunited.

She needs no reminders of that moment or that pipedream now, so she tosses the frame into the garbage pail where it's soon covered with papers.

**11:30 PM**

Will throws the coverage back to DC and waits instinctively for MacKenzie to tell him he's clear. It's that reflexive thought-so ingrained, so preordained-that starts dissolving the practiced compartmentalization in his brain, the one that allows him to endure the crappy no man's land that is his life with/not with MacKenzie.

It's only when he hears Jim's voice in his ear that everything becomes crystal clear: she'd turned an election night broadcast over to an underling because she hadn't wanted to deal with _him_. Which can only mean she's already got one foot out the door. And if she leaves, their show's going to fall apart. Of course, her leaving would result in other, more personal losses, too, but he's not quite ready to think about _that_.

Still, there's no denying her absence would be catastrophic in either domain, and it's that which propels him out of his chair the second the red light goes dark in the studio. He's striding towards the bullpen when he sees Jim walking toward him, trying to get his attention. Will has no choice but to speak to him so he stops and Jim starts babbling about some call-in who has the jitters. Will nods, half listening, half scanning the room for MacKenzie, tapping his feet and silently thinking,  _Jesus Christ, Scooter. Make it fast._  When Jim finally lets Will get a word in, Will tells him he'll call the guy in ten minutes.

He turns to head for MacKenzie's office but Jim's hand on his shoulder stops him. "Can't you talk to him now? He's not going to stay on the line that long. He's a nervous wreck and we need him for the next segment."

Will's shoulders sag in defeat as he reluctantly follows Jim to the control room: he has no choice but to try to talk the man down.

_Fuck._

**11:35 PM**

MacKenzie focuses on packing and trying to mentally disengage from her life at ACN. The television in her office remains on so occasionally—reflexively—she looks up to see how it's going. Will's speech about what it means to be a Republican in today’s climate leaves her cold, though she can acknowledge it was masterfully delivered.

 **11:50 PM**  

It takes all of 25 minutes for MacKenzie to pack her things (she'd taken to heart the advice of one long-ago mentor: never fill your office with more you can carry out at the end of the day). She backs up all her computer files onto an external hard drive and when she's finished, she asks a couple of production assistants to carry the boxes downstairs. The PAs file out individually, so no one on the staff pays any attention. She's relieved no one seems to notice she's leaving.

**\------**

**November 7, 2012**

**12:00 AM**

A break. Finally, finally, he has a break. And with it comes an epiphany: except for the one thing she did wrong she did everything right. The rest was him.

For the last three years, she's been the perfect friend and the perfect professional partner, never once letting him down. She's absorbed everything he's thrown at her and accepted it all with grace and forbearance-even in the face of unexampled provocation. He's ashamed to admit he's spent those same three years unwittingly doing the opposite and proving that he himself  _can't_  be trusted. Not with her feelings, anyway. 

Every one of her actions (and non-actions) since she's been back has proven that he can trust her (did she do that deliberately?). 

And now, in the waning hours of election night 2012, it hits him that he  _does_ trust her. In every way.

_When did that happen?_

Oh, he's always known that she alone holds the key to his happiness but he's never been able to get past the cheating.

Is it his newfound perception of her trustworthiness that makes him think he can?

Or is it the fact that she's about to walk out of his life again?

Maybe it just doesn't matter.

Because a moment later, he  _is_ past it. Just like that.

Because he can't lose her. Not again. 

He trusts her and he loves her still and _that's_ what he needs to tell her. 

Because it's perhaps the one thing she doesn't know.

**12:02 AM**

_ACN_

He has at most, five minutes to do this, but he has to do it now because she thinks she's fired and her tendency is to run. _Shit._ Her tendency is to _run_ and he hasn't seen her in an hour. What if she's already gone? He rushes into his office, grabs the Tiffany box and hurries to find her. 

_MacKenzie's apartment_

Once the boxes are safely stowed inside her apartment, she drags the broken-down ones she'd saved from her last move (another lesson taken to heart: always be prepared to leave at a moment's notice) and starts chucking her things inside.

**12:05 AM**

_ACN_

She's gone. She's actually fucking _gone_. Her desk is empty, books cleared off the shelves, all the stupid knickknacks that had made her office so welcoming—gone. The only thing that remains is a wastebasket full of papers. He sees something dark in the bin and recognizes it as a picture frame. Slowly, slowly he takes it out and when he sees what it is—the twin to a photo he has on his own desk—his eyes well with tears. 

She's gone, she hates him and he has at least four more hours on the air. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He has to be back on the air in two minutes, so the only thing he can do is call her during the next commercial break.

**12:30 AM**

_ACN_  

He does. 

She doesn't answer, so he leaves a message. "Mac, you are _not_ fired. You goaded me into it and I took the bait but I'm taking it back because Genoa was not your fault. I'm not saying anything to HR, so get some sleep. I'll pick you up at seven. I'll bring the coffee and bagels and you bring the boxes you snuck out of here tonight. We'll unpack when you get here."

He's tempted to head to her apartment so they can settle this tonight but doesn't because he suspects it will only devolve into a screaming match. They both need to sleep (she more than he), so he'll just show up tomorrow morning to personally escort her to work. He hopes to Christ that will be enough.

 _MacKenzie's apartment_

She sees Will's name on the call display, waits for the voicemail indicator to show up and deletes the message without listening to it. Then she tosses the phone on the couch. 

**1:30 AM**

She calls the moving company and storage facility. Amazingly, both are still open and for that reason alone she thanks her lucky stars she lives (for now) in New York.

 **2:00 AM**  

She books a flight to London that leaves at 8:30 AM. 

**4:00 AM**

She types and prints out a hurried fax to Charlie, alerting him to the fact that she's been fired and assuring him Jim will be happy to take over. Her emotions are too raw to ask Jim himself, and besides, she'd promised Will she wouldn't tell anyone. She tells herself Jim will do well; it might take him a few weeks to fully own the position but he'll get there eventually, just as she had. She just hopes Will will give him the chance.

**4:30 AM**

She places Charlie's fax face-down in the fax machine, punches in his number and waits as it goes through. Then she unplugs the machine, places it in the last box, tapes it up and shoves it into the center of the room. Then she goes to take a shower.

 **5:00 AM**  

She leaves the key to her apartment and a note for the movers at the security desk, then takes a cab to the airport. 

 **6:00 AM**  

She checks in for her flight, grabs an extra-large, extra-hot latte from the airport cafe and sits down to wait for her flight to be called.

It's over.


	2. Chapter 2

**November 7, 2012**

**6:55 AM**

_MacKenzie's building_

Will heads straight for the security desk, juggling a bag of warm bagels, a bouquet of flowers and an extra-large, extra-hot latte. His name is on the visitor list, so the security guard lets him up. When he gets to her apartment, he sets his things down on a table in the hall and starts rapping his knuckles against the hardwood of MacKenzie's door.

Although he knows he's probably in for a hostile reception, he's not too concerned because he's got it all figured out. He'll simply tell her the truth: he's sorry he was such an ass with the ring and he forgives her for packing up her office and scaring him half to death. He'll invite her back to his place for dinner (no need to propose in a restaurant full of cell phone-wielding Nosy Parkers), and after she accepts his proposal, he'll steer her toward the bedroom (and not for any funny business, either: she always said she slept better with him, so hopefully, she'll finally be able to get some rest). They can postpone their physical reunion until she's feeling more human (her words, not his).

Thirty seconds later, he's still knocking.

_Could she be in the shower? Shit._

_Okay, no problem. I'll give her a few minutes and try again._

He looks at his watch: 7:01.

He grabs a bagel from the bag and slides down the wall to wait. As the minutes tick by, he starts thinking about the future. Will she want to move into his place or will she want him to move into hers? Maybe she'll want them to buy a place together? If she still wants kids (a subject understandably off limits for the last three years), maybe she'd prefer to live in the suburbs instead of Manhattan? He doesn't really give a fuck about the kids or the house so long as he has her, but he does spend the next seven minutes daydreaming about a house with a backyard and a workshop (he remembers spending one fairly pleasant summer with his uncle on the farm, helping him build a wooden settee and coffee table), and enough room for a decked-out barbeque. Yeah. He can definitely picture a life like that. 

At 7:10 he gets to his feet and resumes knocking. When another minute goes by and she still hasn't answered, he starts to wonder: _did she already leave for work? Maybe she didn't get my message?_  

He finally gives up around 7:13 when an angry-looking elderly man dressed in a ratty grey housecoat and green woollen slippers bursts out of an apartment down the hall.

"I don't think _she's home,"_  he says, glaring at Will.

"Sorry," Will says.

"Wait a minute - I know you. I saw your retraction the other night and you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

Will sighs. "It wasn't our finest hour. Excuse me."

He gathers his things and goes back downstairs to the security desk. It's a different guard this time, a friendly woman who looks to be about MacKenzie's age. 

"Excuse me," he says to her. "Do you know if MacKenzie McHale has already come down this morning?" 

The woman looks at Will in recognition. "I think she already moved out," she says.

All attempts at keeping his expression neutral collapse. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

The woman keeps talking, oblivious to the cold sweat beading on Will's forehead. 

"I saw a note from her when I came in," she's saying. "Something about letting the movers in this afternoon."

"The movers?" he manages to get out.

"I think that's what she said," the guard is saying. "Let me read it again." She picks up a single sheet of paper with a type-written note and when he sees MacKenzie's beloved signature, his heart fucking stops.

 _Fuck. This is really happening. I did this and I have to fix it. How the fuck am I going to fix it?_  

"It says we're supposed to let the movers into the apartment this afternoon. She left a forwarding address for mail." She turns the page face-down before he can make out what—or even where—the address is. 

"What's the address?" 

She looks at him suspiciously. "I can't tell you that." 

He decides to try another tack; perhaps he can appeal to the romantic in her. 

"Look, I need that address," he says, dropping all pretense because he doesn't have time to pretend to be cool. "We had a huge fight last night and it was all my fault but I love her and she doesn't know how I feel and I can't let her walk out of my life - not like this." 

She doesn't look convinced, so he pulls out the Tiffany box, shows her the ring and starts rambling.

"Please. I was going to propose last night but she left before I got the chance and I didn't come over because I thought I'd give her some time to cool off but I should have because she obviously used that time to pack and now she's gone. Please. Please give me that address. I have to find her."

She looks at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I can't."

He takes a breath. "OK. Can you at least tell me whether it's in the UK?"

"I can't. I'm sorry." 

 _Fuck._ The page is right there, seven inches away from him. All he has to do is reach over, grab it and turn it over. Would it be worth getting arrested over? Yes. And since he absolutely must find her, he has no choice but to do it. But it would be better if he could do it without getting caught, especially with Genoa's dark cloud hanging over their collective heads. He'll wait until she's not looking. He walks to the end of the security desk, yanks his phone out of his pocket and dials, keeping one eye on the security guard. 

Of course, MacKenzie doesn't answer (she's no doubt screening his calls) and though he feels nothing but panic, his default expression of that emotion is anger, so the voicemail he leaves comes out sounding condescending and authoritarian.

"I'm standing in your lobby. Or what used to be your lobby. You just _left?_ Without _saying_ anything? As I told you in my last message: you are _not_ fired. I'm assuming you went to the UK, so take a few days to visit your family but I want you back in the office on Monday no later than 8:00 AM. Are we clear?" His voice cracks on "clear" and he pauses, then sighs, deflated. "MacKenzie," he says plaintively, rubbing his eyes and looking at the ceiling. "I'm so sorry. For everything. I can't do this show without you ... I don't want to do this show without you ... please come back." 

He hangs up and turns to find the guard staring at him. She obviously heard everything he said. 

"You really should have mentioned you want her back personally. Now she's just going to think all you care about is the show." 

 _Shit. She's right._  

He yanks out his phone again.

"Mac, it's me. I don't just want you back for the show ... I want you back for me, too. We were getting somewhere, weren't we?" he says, trying to keep his voice from going where it wants to go, which is high and plaintive. "Finally putting the past behind us? If you leave, how are we going to put things back together again?" He runs his fingers through his hair. "I know you've given up your apartment but we'll find you another one or ... you can stay with me. For as long as you like. I'd love to have you. Please come back, Mac. Please. The team needs you. I need you."

He hangs up and turns to face the woman, who's looking at him sympathetically. 

"I have to get something out of that filing cabinet," she says pointedly. 

As she turns away, he quickly turns MacKenzie's paper over, looks at the address and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it's her parents' place in London. He turns the paper over and leaves before the woman has a chance to turn around. He'll send her a gift card—anonymously—later. 

When he gets to work, Charlie is waiting for him, obviously seconds away from an explosion. "I received an interesting fax from MacKenzie this morning. You _fired_ her?"

"She goaded me into it and I took it back. She's taking a few days in the UK. She'll be back Monday."

He tells the same thing to the staff, and they accept the news with relief.

He spends the rest of the week trying not to panic and trying to ignore the fact that she packed up her apartment. Surely, she'll change her mind when she hears how much he misses her, how much he needs her. As the days pass however, and she still hasn't returned his call, he grows more and more frantic. He tells himself that even though she's obviously still pissed at him, there's no way she'd let their team down by not coming back. He knows he'll still have to talk her down when he sees her, but he can do that.

He refuses to acknowledge he might not get the opportunity.

 **November 12, 2012**  

On Monday morning, he's in the office at 6:30 AM. The minutes tick by and when eight o'clock comes and goes, he starts to panic. Did she not get his message? Worse, is she ignoring his message?

Jim and Charlie wander in at 8:30 and Will intercepts them as they're heading for Mac's office.

"She's not here," Will says. "Have either of you spoken with her?"

"No," Jim says. "I left a few messages, but she hasn't returned my calls. I figured she's busy. She'll be here. She said she'd be back this morning, right?" 

Will swallows.

"Not exactly." 

"What do you mean, 'Not exactly?' Charlie asks, eyebrows raised. 

"Let's go into my office," Will says. They do and Will closes the door behind them.

"I thought she'd be back today because that's when I told her I wanted her back." 

"So, she's running a little late," Charlie says lightly. "I'm sure she'll be in at some point." He gets up to leave. "Let me know when she gets in." 

"Charlie ... wait," Will says, barely audibly. 

Suspicions aroused, Charlie turns back around. "Is there something you're not telling us, Will?"

"She didn't exactly say she'd be back today," Will says quickly. "I ... uh ... _told_ her to be back today. But ... uh ... I don't know if she actually got the message ... or if she did, whether she's going to do what I asked."

"Back up," Charlie commands. "You left her a message telling her you wanted her back today. Does that mean you haven't actually spoken to MacKenzie since you fired her?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you've spoken to her or yes, I'm right and you haven't spoken to her?" 

"The last one."

"She packed up her office," Charlies says, "So I'm guessing your assumption that she's coming back is based entirely on wishful thinking—am I right?" 

"That's the gist of it, yes." Will replies, not quite looking at him. 

"Will, start talking." Charlie says, sitting back down. "What the hell happened on election night?" 

Will gulps. 

"She wanted to take one for the team so she goaded me into firing her. Then we had a huge fight and she left before the show was over. I thought I'd give her a chance to cool off so I left her a message saying she was unfired and that I'd see her the next morning. I showed up at her apartment the next day to pick her up but she was gone." 

He takes a deep breath, realizing just how easily he's been willing to overlook all the signs that indicate she has no intention of coming back. 

"Security told me movers were coming that afternoon to pick up her stuff and she'd left a forwarding address in London - she's at her parents' place." 

Jim's jaw drops. "She packed up her _apartment_?" he says. "And you think she's coming back? What the hell did you say to her?" he erupts. 

"It's not important," Will says. 

"The hell it isn't. What did you say to her?" 

"It's none of your goddamned business, Jim!" Will exclaims. 

"Yes, it is! She's like my sister!" Jim says, getting to his feet and striding over to Will's desk so he can tower over him. "I love Mac," Jim says, leaning down so he can yell directly in his face. "I've watched you torment her for years and I haven't said a word because she wouldn't let me. She gave me every excuse in the book for your shitty behavior but what it all came down to was, "I hurt him. I deserve everything I get." So, you must have done something really fucking terrible to make her pack up and leave! She has PTSD, Will! You don't just fuck with someone who has PTSD! Now tell me what you said to her!" he says menacingly.

"We said some things - I don't know what the last straw was." 

"Bullshit. What did you say to her?" 

Will doesn't have a choice. He tells them about the ring. About her reaction when she learned the truth. About the look in her eyes the moment he realized he'd fucked up, quite possibly beyond repair.

"You bought an engagement ring just to fuck with her," Charlie says slowly. "And then you _told_ her about it. What the hell were you thinking, Will?!" 

"I didn't tell her to hurt her!" 

"But that's why you bought it, isn't it?" Jim says coldly. "You're an even bigger dick than I thought you were and that's saying something."

"Jim, settle down," Charlie admonishes. 

"For the record," Will says, "I didn't buy it just to fuck with her—it was always meant for her. I was going to propose on election night but she left before I had the chance." 

"You thought telling her about the ring would butter her up?" Charlie asks.

"No—I wasn't planning to propose then. I got the idea later that night, when I finally pulled my head out of my ass and realized I have been a total fucking moron. I've always loved her, Jim," he says, because it's somehow very important to him right now that Mac's protégé knows how much she means to him. "Always. Even when I was pretending I didn't. And even if she turns me down now I will never do anything to hurt her again. I promise." 

"Well, it doesn't sound like she's coming back, so you're not going to get the chance to prove it." Jim says, glaring at him. "Are you satisfied? Did you finally get what you wanted?"

"Jim, enough," Charlie says.

" _He_ did this. Not me." Jim says, getting up. "I'm going to call her."

"Please don't say anything about the ring or my proposal, okay?" Will says weakly. "I want to tell her myself."

" _If_ you get the chance."

Since it's now abundantly clear she's not coming back, the second Jim and Charlie leave his office Will starts looking up flight times.

 **November 13, 2012**  

**6:30 PM**

When he arrives in London, her family's in the midst of yet another family dinner (never mind that it's a week night) and he can hear the laughter as he walks up the steps. He rings the bell and when Lord McHale opens the door, Will sees his eyes widen before the diplomat's mask comes down.

"William. This is a surprise," he says colorlessly.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Sir. I ... I'm looking for MacKenzie," Will says, as if it's not completely fucking obvious why he's suddenly on this side of the Atlantic. "Is she here?" 

"She is," her father says, somewhat reluctantly, and Will exhales loudly with relief. "But I'm not sure she wants to ..." 

"... see me?" Will finishes. 

Lord McHale nods. 

"I understand, but it's very important that I speak with her. Can you please tell her I'm here?" 

MacKenzie's father nods. "Wait here."

He heads back into the dining room. 

"Who was that, dear?" MacKenzie's mother asks him.

"MacKenzie," Lord McHale says, addressing his daughter instead, who's helping one of her nieces mop up a glass of spilled water. "Will McAvoy is here."

MacKenzie's head jerks up and she stares at her father. "Will's here?"

"Yes. And looking fairly desperate, I might add. He'd like to speak with you."

She can't. As much as she's been going through withdrawal because she hasn't seen or spoken to him in a week, she can't afford to let him in. She reminds herself that he deliberately bought that ring just to hurt her and all she has to look forward to if she resumes their relationship is a never-ending series of punishments.

"I can't, Dad. Please just tell him I can't."

She watches her father turn back towards the front of the house. She wants to call him back but to what end? Will McAvoy, once the love of her life, now hates her. It's been a shock to the system but accepting the truth has also been strangely liberating. She no longer has to expend half her energy trying to deny it or dreaming dreams that will never come true.

When Lord McHale opens the front door again, he looks apologetically at Will. "I'm sorry, Will. She doesn't want to see you." 

Will is gobsmacked. Does she really mean never to see him again? For this to be the end? How is that possible? 

"Please. She's angry with me over something I did and she thinks she knows why I did it but she doesn't. She got it wrong. And I can't let her walk out of my life over something that isn't true." 

"I'm sorry, Will. I have to respect her wishes." 

"I have to see her," Will says insistently. "Look. Can you please tell her I'm not going anywhere until I do?" He points to a wooden bench in the front garden. "I'll just wait there." 

"I'm not sure she's going to change her mind and it looks like it's going to rain. Why don't you wait inside?"

"No. I don't want to intrude. I just ... " he rubs his hand through his hair and looks nakedly at Lord McHale. "Please. I can't let her walk out of my life again. Not like this."

"Very well," MacKenzie's father says sympathetically. "I'll tell her you're waiting." 

When Lord McHale rejoins his family, all conversation around the table stops as they wait for his report. MacKenzie looks up at him anxiously.

"He says he can't leave until he speaks with you, Mackie. He's on the front bench." 

"Harold, it's going to rain," his wife says. "Why didn't you invite him in?" 

"I did, but he doesn't want to intrude."

MacKenzie's traitorous heart, the part of her psyche that's madly in love with Will, the part that's willing to overlook any amount of his bullshit on the off chance it might get her what she wants, has stolen every bit of the resolve she felt two minutes ago to leave him behind.  _That was fast_ , MacKenzie thinks. 

She looks from one parent to another. They obviously think she's being cruel. Christ. What is she supposed to  _do_? She knows Will, knows better than anyone that once he's decided on a course of action he's going to see it through, no matter the cost—to him or anyone else. He's obviously not going to leave without speaking to her but she knows as sure as she's sitting there that every bit of her resolve to leave him behind is going to vanish the moment she looks into his beautiful eyes.

She tries to work out why he's here; surely it isn't for her. Not the way she wants him to be, anyway. He must be worried about the show: maybe he doesn't think Jim can handle the job? Maybe he's come here to discuss some of the stories they'd been working on before she left?

"Dad, can you tell him that if he's here to talk about some of the stories we were working on I can send him a status update via e-mail? I already sent it to Jim but I'll forward a copy to Will, too. Okay?" 

Her father sighs. "Alright, Mackie. I'll tell him." 

When the door opens again and Will sees it's Lord McHale, his stomach falls. He wonders just how long he's prepared to wait and just how long she's going to make him wait. 

"She says that if you're here to find out the status of the stories you were working on before she left, she'll forward you a copy of an e-mail she sent to Jim about it."

"I'm not here to talk about work. I'm here to talk about her and me. Can you tell her that?" 

Lord McHale sighs. This is getting ridiculous. He is too old to be playing go-between between his grown daughter and her ex-boyfriend. Still, he relays the message as instructed.

 _He's here to talks about_ us _?_ MacKenzie thinks.  _What is there to talk about?_

Lord McHale sits back down to dinner and as the minutes tick by, she fights an internal war. Should she go and talk to Will? She sure as fuck doesn't want to and it's not just because of the ring: she has zero self-control where he's concerned and she knows as well as he does she'll be putty in his hands. She's interrupted from her reverie by her father, who gets up to peer out the window into the front garden, where the rain is now coming down in sheets.

"MacKenzie," her father says. "The man you once described as the love of your life is getting rained on. If you don't want to spend a week nursing him back to health, I suggest you invite him in. Or at least offer him an umbrella and a cup of tea." 

"Dad, can you give him ..."

"No," he says firmly. "You are both far too old to have me act as your go-between. Face it head on, my dear. You'll have no peace until you do."

She nods, gets up and walks to the door. When she opens it, her heart aches at the sight of a sopping-wet Will, shivering on the bench in mid-November. "You can come in," she says softly. She leaves the door open but doesn't wait to see whether he's followed her in or not.

When she hears the door close behind him, she turns back to glance at him briefly. "Come with me," she calls over her shoulder and he follows her into the bath where she hands him several large towels. "Wait here," she says, and his eyes follow her until she disappears from view out the door. A minute later she returns with a pair of his old sweatpants and a long-sleeved University of Nebraska t-shirt that kept her company in Afghanistan. She pretends not to notice the significance of having his old clothing in her possession and so does he. She shoves them at him reluctantly: it's unlikely she'll ever see them again and she'd rather not examine her reluctance to part with them too closely. "You can change here. I'll be in the dining room when you're finished. You remember where it is?"

He nods. He remembers it from the many times they'd visited this house together. In fact, one of his sweetest memories of their time together is from their last visit, when he'd sat in the back garden, feeling no pain, with a beer in one hand and MacKenzie in the other. He'd been so happy then, so blissfully unaware that everything was about to blow up in his face.

She walks out without looking back and he can hear her heels clattering down the hallway. He closes the door, changes and leaves his wet clothes to dry in the shower. As he's tucking the Tiffany box into the pocket of his sweats, the sounds of MacKenzie's heels alert him to her approach. He hears her stop outside the door, wait a beat and clear her throat before speaking softly to him through the door. 

"Will? There's a pair of socks for you out here."

Before he can respond he hears her heels clattering on the floor as she heads back down the hallway. When he emerges, something in his chest tightens when he sees a pair of oversized electric blue slipper socks. Did she deliberately keep buying blue pairs after they broke up? Although he used to tease her mercilessly over those socks, with their fuzzy knit and garish colors, he'd secretly loved the role they played in their bedtime routine.

They'd end up in the shower together most evenings, and afterwards each would attend to the bedtime routine of the other—mostly because it gave them an excuse to keep touching each another. Will would towel-dry MacKenzie's hair and she would do the same for him, stepping up on tiptoes to reach his scalp. She'd end up pressing her breasts against his chest which inevitably led to more kissing and touching and less grooming, but eventually they'd get back to the matter at hand. 

They'd comb each other's hair, put on their night clothes (sometimes) and then they'd head to the couch, where they'd take turns settling their feet in each other's laps. MacKenzie would produce a bottle of lilac-scented lotion and they'd take turns slathering it over each other's feet. Once finished, they'd slip those warm, stupid socks over each other's toes. She'd bought Will three blue pairs (of course he'd thrown them out immediately after they'd broken up) while hers were pink, purple and green. 

He puts on the socks and all he can think about at this moment is how perfectly attuned to one another they'd once been, how perfectly at home they'd once been in each other's spaces. Which is the polar opposite of how he feels now: like an unwanted interloper in her life, embarrassed and uneasy. 

They've never been so far apart.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He heads for the dining room where he greets—and is greeted by—everyone awkwardly. MacKenzie is sitting at the table, sandwiched between her sister Harriet and her brother Peter. Simon, her other brother, and their parents are seated across from them. Mercifully, Simon and Peter's spouses have taken their children to a nearby shop for hot cocoa. 

"Won't you sit down?" Lady McHale says politely, motioning to the chair beside her. 

"No, thank you. I'm fine," he answers.

MacKenzie doesn't look at him, so he waits for her to say something, to lead him somewhere away from prying eyes, to do anything but look down at her hands while the rest of those assembled shift uneasily in their seats. When it becomes clear she has no intention of doing any of those things, he's compelled to take charge. 

"MacKenzie?" 

Her head jerks up at the sound of his voice. 

"Yes?"

"Can we talk?" 

"Sure," she says as if this isn't awkward as fuck.

He glances around the room at her relatives, who look as uncomfortable as he feels. 

"Alone?" 

She looks up at him, trying to get a bead on what kind of game he's playing at, trying to figure out the best way to position herself so that this conversation does _not_ end where she suspects it might, with her sobbing in the next room. She toys with the idea of taking him in there straight away (she knows for a fact there's a box of tissues next to the couch) but he'll just feel free to try to wear her down and she's in no mental state to deal with his machinations.

 _No_ , she decides. _We'll stay right here_. He'll be less apt to be cruel with an audience and she'll be less apt to swoon at his feet.

"Here's fine," she says, and when he rolls his eyes she knows she's made the right decision. She'd like to wipe his expression—so confident, so self-assured—right off his face. Once upon a time, she'd have been able to see behind the mask well enough to discern he's anything _but_ confident, but she's so tired, so depleted that all she can see is the condescension.

Which infuriates her.

_How dare he show up here and try to bully his way into my life just as I'm trying to put it back together?_

"You really want to have this conversation in front of an audience?" he says, making her bristle.

"I've got very little to say to you, Will, and what I do have is fit for public consumption."

Her family looks shocked by her tone and Will's expression momentarily registers surprise but he recovers quickly. Luckily, his acerbic nature is always ready to respond in kind. 

"Yeah, well, what I have to say to you is not."

_Ah, just as I suspected. You've come here to hurt me. Well, fuck you. I'm not without protection._

"All the better to say it here, then," she says briskly, trying to steel herself against whatever machinations he's going to employ to try to get her to do what he wants (whatever the fuck that might be). She has no idea what he's doing here and at this point, she doesn't care. She's exhausted, tired of his mind games and she just wants him gone. Although she no longer has the strength or even the brain cells to try to divine Will McAvoy's motivations, she's fairly certain she knows all she needs to know: they aren't noble or caring or loving or even kind, so he can just go fuck himself. 

"Let's give them some privacy, shall we?" Lord McHale says. He starts to get up but MacKenzie stops him. 

"Stay, Dad. All of you, please," she says, looking at the rest of her family. "It'll help keep things civil." Will rolls his eyes again and the rest of those assembled reluctantly sit back down. 

"Why are you here, Will?" she says angrily. "Couldn't resist twisting the knife one last time?" 

 _Well_ , she thinks. _That was a little too revealing for mixed company_. She's obviously closer to the edge than she thought. 

Will squints in confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about, so I'll respond to the only part I understood. I'm not here to twist the knife, whatever that means." He doesn't wait for a response, just starts making his way towards her side of the room. If she's going to insist they argue in public at least he can make sure they're not shouting at each other across the table. He comes to a stop behind Harriet's chair, which is right next to MacKenzie's.

 _Damn him for standing so close to me_ , she thinks. Even soaking wet he looks like a deity, utterly attractive and utterly enticing with his golden locks and blue eyes that radiate intelligence. He's like a broadcasting tower whose signal pulses at a frequency only she can hear. Then again, maybe everyone else feels it, too? She looks around but no one else seems to be paying him any attention; certainly no one else seems to be at risk of swooning at his feet; in fact, they all look rather bored. Would that she was so lucky: the very sight of him is making her heart hammer in her chest and her lovesick brain whisper all kinds of unhelpful things in her ear, e.g.,  _maybe he really does care, maybe that's why he's here, maybe there's another way to interpret his chicanery with the ring._   _No_ , she chides herself. She's been a complete and utter fool for the last three/six years and it is far past time to knock it off. She is done with this man. He can take whatever new punishment he's packed in his carry-on and shove it up his ass.

She twists in her seat to look up at him and the expression on her face tells him she's spoiling for a fight.

Beside her, Harriet pushes back her own chair, gets up and motions for Will to take it.

"Thank you," he says gratefully.

Despite the fact that this is a terrible moment and they're at war, the second he sits down next to MacKenzie all the pieces of his broken heart start to knit together. She looks exhausted, yes, but she's still enveloped in the glow that makes her shine brighter than anyone else in the room. God, it's wonderful to be near her again. There is no one else like her under the sun. And there will never be anyone for him but her. He just has to convince her.

Which may not be as easy as he'd hoped.

He doesn't have a plan, doesn't know exactly what he wants to say yet, but he knows one thing: he'll greatly increase his chance of success if he keeps the sarcasm and snide remarks to a minimum. Ordinarily, their sparring is a source of amusement for them both ( _isn't it?_  ) but he suspects he's ventured a little too far into the hinterlands at this point to be able to take those liberties. Fine. He'll keep his head down and play it straight. Surely he can keep his trap shut long enough to win her back (and make no mistake: he  _is_ going to win her back). So long as he can keep a lid on it, he hopes she'll be wearing his ring before the dinner dishes hit the sink.

First, though, he needs to find out what the hell she's doing here. He looks at her searchingly, puts his arm around the back of her chair and says quietly, in all seriousness: "I'm here to find out what happened. Why did you give up your apartment? Why did you leave New York?

"You fired me, remember?" she says coldly, scooting closer to Peter, who scoots slightly to his left. "I was under no obligation to remain." 

"I didn't want to fire you," Will says, honor-bound to respond in kind to her aggressive, condescending tone. "You _begged_ me to fire you because you wanted to play the martyr. Granted, I took the bait, but I took it back, which you'd have known if you'd listened to any of the dozen messages I've left you since then. _Which you didn't return_."

"I deleted them upon receipt."

"Why am I not surprised?" he says, using his grip on the back of her chair as leverage and scooting ever closer to her. "But even if I _hadn't_ taken it back, it didn't count because it happened on _Tuesday_ instead of Friday."

Goddamn the man and his blue eyes. And why the hell did he have to bathe with that soap she loves, the kind that smells like sandalwood and cardamom? Too distracted to respond, she just looks at him, which forces him to keep going in the same vein.

"You are _not_ fired, MacKenzie," he continues. "You are still under contract and I expect you back in the office ..." he pauses momentarily to do the calculations. "...Friday." 

She turns away to take a sip from her wine glass, trying to steady her shaky fingers. Across from her, Lady McHale attempts to defuse the situation. "Would you like some wine, Will?" 

Will glances up to see the worried expression on Lady McHale's face. "No, thank you," he says, donning his polite mask and giving her a reassuring smile. He has no desire to make a scene but he has to talk to MacKenzie and if this is the only way she'll permit it, what other choice does he have but to air their dirty laundry in public? He makes a silent vow to keep his anger in check. Which he forgets as soon as MacKenzie opens her mouth. 

"I'm not going back," she says defiantly. "Charlie has my letter and Jim's taking over." 

"Yeah, well, Charlie tore up your letter when I told him you were coming back yesterday."

MacKenzie looks at him, outraged. "You had no right to do that!" 

"I had every right!" he says, ignoring the stares of her relatives and determined to show her that she can't just abandon the show, she can't just abandon _him_ because they got into a fight. "You're under _contract_ , MacKenzie. You have an obligation to ACN, to our team, and to _me_. And where do you get off thinking you can just unilaterally promote Jim into an executive producer position? He is nowhere near ready." 

She knows Will, knows he's being controlling and condescending precisely because he feels out of control, but that doesn't mean she has to put up with it. "He's the same age I was when I started producing your show." 

"I don't care how old he is. He's smart but he's not as smart as you are and he's not as good as you are," he says flatly. "You could handle it. He can't."

"He will," she says, forcing herself to speak gently because she owes it to Jim to grease the wheels. "Just give him a chance. He'll grow into the position."

"I don't _want_ him to grow into the position," Will retorts. "I want _you_. You're the mastermind behind this operation and it doesn't work without you." 

Her expression softens. "You have contractual approval over your EP. If Jim doesn't work out, you can hire someone else. All I ask is that you give him a fair chance."

He snorts in derision. "Forget it. Because that would mean accepting that you're not coming back and I _do not_ accept that you're not coming back." He looks at her with exasperation. And anger. Who does she think she is, blowing up their show like that? "Besides, I don't think you're in a position to be asking for anything."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you through with your tantrum, Will? I thought you said you didn't come here to talk about work."

"I didn't." He suddenly remembers why he's here and he can see from the look on MacKenzie's face—and her family's—that he's not scoring any points. He takes a deep breath and exhales softly. Why the fuck is he acting like a controlling asshole when the only thing that matters is getting her back?

"I came here to talk about you and me."

She looks at him as if he's eaten another one of Kaylee's pot brownies. "There is no 'you and me,' Will."

"What are you talking about?" he says impatiently. "That's _all_ there is. That's all there's _ever_ been. Listen," he says. "I know you're angry about the ring and you have every right to be -" 

"Thank you," she says sardonically. 

"But ..." he stops, trying to find the words to convey just how deeply she wounded him by attempting to set up residence in another fucking country without so much as a _word_ to him.

"How could you just leave like that?" he says softly. "How could you just move to another country without telling me?" Despite his best efforts to mask the emotion behind the words, his question ends up sounding plaintive and imploring. 

She hesitates. This conversation is not going the way she'd hoped. Will is about to say something revealing and she's going to have to tell him to fuck off and her protective instincts-the ones that compel her to protect Will's fragile psyche at all costs-are screaming at her to get them the hell out of here so she can humiliate him in private.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and stands up. 

"Come with me," she says. "We'll talk in the other room."

He gets up and follows her to the far end of the house where she's assured (or semi-assured) they can speak privately. 

When they're behind closed doors, he turns to face her.

" _Thank you,_ " he says sarcastically.

"Do not fuck with me, Will. I won't stand for it. Not anymore." 


	4. Chapter 4

She glowers at him. Why in the hell is he doing this? Whatever existed between them is dead and buried so what’s the fucking point? 

Oblivious to her thoughts, he insists on pressing her for an answer to his question: "Are you going tell me why you took a one-way flight to another country without telling me?"

_Fine. She'll answer him. If only to avoid answering the question he's really asking._

"I was planning to call everyone individually once things settled down."

 _"_ So, you _were_ planning to call me." 

 _Then again, why shouldn't she answer him honestly? If the truth hurts, so be it. He's certainly never been overly concerned about the effect of_ his _words on_ her _feelings._

She squares her jaw, stands up a little straighter and stares at him, unblinking.

"No," she says firmly.

His face falls. "No?" he says, disbelieving, thinking she must be joking. "Come on. After everything we've been through, you were just-what-never going to speak to me again?"

"That was the plan."

His eyes widen in astonishment and his expression becomes deadly serious. "It was?" he asks softly, uncertainly. The look on his face tells her he's shocked and hurt and bewildered and she marvels at the size of the man's ego. He thinks the weight of all the shit he's put her through doesn't matter, that it would never be so great as to make her want to leave him in the dust. "Because of the ring?"

He looks so hurt, so wounded, she almost feels guilty. _Almost._ Until she remembers what he's done to her.

"The ring was just the icing on the cake, Will," she says firmly. "There's nothing left between us. Nothing worth saving. Nothing worth fighting for. It's over. You should go."

He flinches as if she just slapped him. "How can you say that?" He looks so astonished, so hurt, so wounded that despite her thoughts of 30 seconds ago, the biggest part of her wants to throw her arms around him and tell him she didn't mean it. But she steels herself against it because she can no longer afford to overlook the pain he's apparently hell-bent on causing _her_.

When she doesn't respond, he says, in a voice tinged equally with fury and incredulity, "There's everything between us! Everything! And it's absolutely worth fighting for! That's why I'm _here._ "

If she thinks there's nothing left between them, that there's nothing worth fighting for, he's run out of time. He has to tell her. _Now._ No matter that the expression on her face is telling him she may not receive the news favourably-or even graciously. No matter that he should have told her much sooner.

Did he honestly think she'd wait around forever? God, he's been an idiot, but he can't change the past. All he can do (he hopes, he hopes, he hopes) is change the future.

"Listen, I know I screwed up," he says, trying to calm down, trying to put a padlock on his feelings so he can get through this without driving her further away. "With the ring."

He pulls the Tiffany box from the pocket of his sweats and is so intent on opening the box he completely misses the look of outrage that crosses her features.

"But I didn't return it," he says, forcing himself to look into her eyes. "Because it was always meant for you."

_Christ, she thinks. Is there anything this man loves more than punishing me? Does he truly think I need any reminders of a practical joke whose sole intent was to hurt me?_

"Yes, I'm well aware it was meant for me, Will. You did well. You got what you wanted. It was a masterful piece of revenge."

He has no idea what kind of narration is accompanying this conversation in her mind but it's suddenly very clear she's lost her marbles.

"I didn't get what I wanted," he says, once again completely flummoxed by her reaction. "I wanted you."

"What are you talking about?" she says impatiently.

Once upon a time he'd lost her and never prayed to get her back, but now that he's about to lose her a second time, he has no choice but to utter the words he hasn't been able to say. He takes a deep breath. This is it. The moment he's half dreaded, half anticipated for the last three years. They've wasted so much time. _He's_ wasted so much time. Why couldn't he have gotten his shit together while she still had an apartment in New York? Why couldn't he have gotten his shit together when she first came back? They could be married by now, maybe even have a couple of kids. But he can't go back, he can only go forward. And hope it's not too late.

"MacKenzie," he says, taking her hand and staring at her with those blue eyes that make her stomach turn somersaults. "I know I've been an ass since you came back but ... I love you. With all my heart. I never stopped."

He says it sincerely (or what might pass for sincerely if she didn't know better) and all she can do is stare at him, astonished. If a bolt of lightning had pierced the heavens, torn a hole in her parents' roof and cut her down where she's standing she would not have been more stunned.

She wishes one had, because at least then her traitorous heart wouldn't be trying to convince her she can believe his lies. _No matter_ , she tells herself. This is a mutiny her idiotic, feeble-minded heart isn't going to win.

Because she's _livid._

Is he seriously trying to make her believe he loves her now? After all this time? After all the things he's done to prove how much he loathes her? How dare he make a mockery of the words that used to mean so much to her? Words he never even used to have to _utter_ so clearly did he express the sentiment with his eyes? God, the way he used to look at her: with an expression so soft, so warm, so loving and affectionate. So open, unlike the expression he's worn for the last three years.

She thought nothing could hurt more than finding out he'd bought the ring just to fuck with her, but this- _this_? To tell her he _loves_ her just to fuck with her? She knows he hates her-that's why she left-but to know just how _much_ he hates her: it's insupportable. Unbearable.

She yanks her hand from his. "Jesus Christ, Will," she whispers, utterly stunned, utterly aghast. "How much do you hate me?"

" _What_?"

She can hardly breathe and now the tears are threatening to spill over but she won't cry, not in front of him, damn him, but she can't help choking up and he hears it, and he has no idea why.

"I thought the _ring_ ... the _ring_ was bad enough ..." she chokes out. "... but ... it wasn't enough for you, was it? Because you want _blood_."

"What?" he repeats, bewildered.

"To buy a ring just to hurt me and then to tell me you _love_ me just to hurt me? God, I can't believe it," she says, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. "I want you to leave. Now. Don't contact me again." 

She watches as his countenance becomes a study in bewilderment and pain, but conditioned as she's been by three years of absorbing his punishments, she sees nothing but anger. And she suspects that has less to do with the prospect of losing her than of losing his leverage over her.

He feels like he's just landed in Crazy Town, where his version of reality bears absolutely no resemblance to hers. Worse, he can't even buy a ticket to _see_ her version, which means he has no idea what the fuck she's thinking or why, let alone how to fix it. All he can do is continue to pick his way down this dark, unlit path, trying to pick up clues and avoid landmines as he goes along.

"You _think_ ," he says, grabbing her hand before she can walk away. "You think I told you I love you just to _fuck_  with you? Are you _insane_?"

"It's not without precedent, Will, so you can save the wounded sparrow act. I am _not_ falling for your lies. Admittedly, I would have, a week ago, but not anymore. The business with the ring lifted the veil and now I see _exactly_ what you're about."

_God, she really fucking hates me. How did I not know that?_

"No, you don't! I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, but I love you!"

"That's rich, considering you've spent the last three years exacting revenge. Is that what we're calling 'love' these days? If that's what you came to say to me, consider it said. I am _not_ falling for it, so you can just leave!"

He's losing her, _he's losing her_ , so he has no choice but to do this now (and pretend the last 30 seconds' worth of conversation never happened). He brings her hand up and she watches, absolutely astounded as he places the ring at the tip of her finger and stares into her eyes.

"I'm going to say this again, MacKenzie. I _love_ you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my life. I promise to love, honor and cherish you for the rest of my life. Will you let me? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"  
  
Her jaw drops. The unmitigated _gall_ of the man. What happened to the man she loved? He's been replaced by a _monster_.

"What are you going on about, Will?" she says, yanking her hand away. "Is this another one of your practical jokes?"

He stops, stunned. " _No!_ " Why is she acting this way? Wait a minute, he thinks and suddenly, he peers at her as if she's about to break into a million pieces. _My God, did Genoa do this to her? Did_ I _do this to her?_

"MacKenzie," he says, looking at her with obvious concern. "Look at me," he says, raising his hand to feel her forehead. "Are you alright? You're not ..." _well_ , he wants to say, but he's sure that will go over like a lead balloon.

She slaps his hand away. "What? Falling at your feet like a lovesick fool? Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm asking you sincerely. Are you alright? You're not behaving ... rationally. What's going on?"

"Christ, what an ego," she says. "I'm not ill. I'm simply impervious to your charms. I have no idea why you felt compelled to cross an ocean to hurt me one last time but you needn't have bothered. I'm sick of your crap, Will, and this has to end. I'm asking you to leave."

"Please. Don't do this. I know I've been an ass, but we were getting somewhere, weren't we? Until election night? We were putting the past behind us, working towards something. Don't throw what we have away, please!"

"'What we have?'" She snorts derisively. "Don't make me laugh. What we have is a relationship in which you mete out the punishments and I take them."

"That is _not_ true!" he says, getting angry. "We have so much more than that and you know it!"

"We used to have so much more than that - we used to have something _extraordinary_ \- but not anymore. I don't even recognize you, Will. When we were together, you were the man of any woman's dreams but now you're nothing but a _bastard_."

Will winces, appalled. _This_ is what she thinks of him. Jesus Christ.

As she looks at his stunned expression, she gets angrier and angrier. Who the fuck does he think he is, showing up here, trying to bully his way back into her life when she knows damned well he doesn't give a shit about her?

"I know it's my fault," she says. "I know that's what I did to you but I have paid for my sins over and over and over again and I am _done_ paying for them. Do you hear me?" she shrieks, her voice rising to a crescendo. "I am _done_ paying for them!"

MacKenzie's parents and Harriet come barreling in.

"What is going _on_?" Lord McHale thunders.

MacKenzie looks at her father. "Nothing, Dad. Will's just hoping to extract another pound of flesh from me before we go our separate ways."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Will butts in. "I'm not trying to get another pound of flesh! Listen. I know I hurt you but I didn't do it intentionally!" she raises her eyebrows at him. "Fine," he backtracks. " _Sometimes_ I did it intentionally but it was only because I couldn't handle having you back in my life but not in the way I wanted!"

She looks at Will with absolute contempt (this time, unfeigned). " _Don't._ _you. dare._ try to tell me you didn't do it intentionally, Will. You've spent the last three years devising punishments explicitly designed to hurt me, so _fuck you_ ..."

"Watch yourself, young lady!" Her mother admonishes her.

"... for asking me to marry you when you have no intention of following through! When were you planning to pull the rug out from under me if I'd accepted, huh? At the altar? That would have been sweet revenge, indeed."

"Why wouldn't I follow through?" he exclaims. "I'm in love with you! I'd marry you tomorrow if I could! Heck, maybe I can. All you have to do is come back to New York with me. We can get the license tomorrow and be married on Thursday!"

"Oh, save it, Will. Just how far are you willing to go with this charade? I know exactly how much you hate me, so don't pretend everything you've done to me over the last three years actually proves the opposite!"

"You think I've spent the last three years trying to show you how much I _hate_ you?"

 _She_ has _lost it_ , he thinks. Genoa, too little sleep, the business with the ring: it's all added up and now she's gone stark, raving mad. That's the only explanation-the _only_ explanation for her interpretation of his behavior. All he can do now is set her straight and hope the facts win out.

"I've spent the last three years trying to pretend I wasn't in love with you!" he says indignantly.

"Oh, yes, your actions certainly screamed 'I love you,'" she says sarcastically. "Having revenge sex with every woman in the Tri-State area. Having them meet you in our newsroom - my _home_ \- so you could rub my nose in it." She turns her head to look at her mother. "Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep after he took them home instead of me?"

"Mac, I'm so sorry-" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Oh, shut it, Will. Harriet, did you know he gave the network three million dollars off his contract so he could have the option of firing me every week? _Three million dollars._ You know what else he did?" she says, obviously not requiring an answer. "He brought Brian in to write that article. He could have picked any other journalist in the country but he picked _Brian_. _Brian_ , who makes me feel like a _whore_."

"Alright, Mackie. That's enough," Lord McHale says.

"Hold on, Dad. It gets better. There once was a tabloid journalist. Who hacked my phone and threatened to write a career-ending article about me. Well, that must have been an aphrodisiac for Will because he dated her for _six months!_ "

"Will, I think you should go," Lady McHale says.

"Wait, Mum. You haven't heard the best part. I once described a ring. The one I'd like to have should someone ever propose to me. Coincidentally, it looks very much like the ring Will is holding in his hand right now. He first showed it to me a couple of years ago to prove he'd intended to marry me when were together. You can imagine how many nights I cried myself to sleep over _that_. But it turns out I needn't have _bothered_ because right before I left New York he confessed he hadn't actually bought it when we were together. He bought it right before he showed it to me. To hurt me. To remind me what I'd lost. Look at the size of that diamond, Dad. It must have cost him a quarter million dollars. An expensive prank, wouldn't you say?"

As the words tumble out, Will's misdeeds are like a three-ton weight on his chest. Yes, he behaved abominably at times but it didn't come out of the blue! Where the fuck does she get off acting like he just decided to become a bastard one day without cause?

"Listen to me, MacKenzie," he says, grabbing her wrist. "All those things you just said, that laundry list of my transgressions? Yeah, I did them. I did them _all_. And you didn't deserve it. I'm not proud of the way I acted but I did it because it took me a long time to figure out how to deal with the fact that I had you back in my life but not the way I wanted. Yes, I was an ass, but it didn't come out of nowhere! You act like I became a monster on a whim. Will you let me tell _my_ side of the story? And if you do, will you actually listen? Or are you just going to tell me to go to hell?"

She closes her eyes and wills herself to be patient. "Fine. I'll listen. Then you can go to hell."

"We'll leave you, then." Lord McHale says. "But I expect you both to do a better job of controlling yourselves."

"Yes, Sir," Will says reflexively, his eyes never leaving MacKenzie's face.

Her family leaves the room and once again, Will and MacKenzie are alone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Will starts to pace.

"You _ambushed_ me, MacKenzie. You and Charlie both. I thought I was never going to see you again and all of a sudden you were standing in the middle of the bullpen. I can't even begin to tell you what that was like. I could barely stay on my feet. I couldn't _breathe_. I was elated. Furious. Heartbroken. All at the same time. But I had to find a way to work with you and it was unbearable. Because every time I looked at you, all I could think was, ' _I just want you back. I just want our future back. We were so happy together. Why did you have to ruin it?'_ On and on and on it went and every day opened some old wound. And every night we'd say our goodbyes as if we were just work buddies, as if we hadn't lived together for _two fucking years_ , as if I wasn't still in love with you, as if I wasn't thinking _'Why the hell do you have your own apartment when you should be coming home with me?'"_

"Give me a break, Will. Don't you dare try to tell me you were pining for me when you were going home with a different woman every night!"

"Yes! I was trying to pretend there was life after you even though I knew there wasn't and yes, I admit I was trying to hurt you by asking them to meet me where you would see them but having you back in my life was killing me, Mac. It wa _s_ killing me and there was no way out because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forgive you. But I had to keep working with you, so I would _try_ to keep a lid on it, I would _try_ not to lash out at you because I knew you were trying and we were doing this amazing show together ... but not having you the way I wanted ... God, Mac. It killed me and sometimes it would just _seep. out._ I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't handle it."

"As for the ring," he continues. "I bought it to win the argument I knew we were going to have but I also bought it so you would know how serious I was about you when we were together. I had every intention of asking you to marry me back then. I hadn't gotten the ring yet because I thought you'd want to pick it out but I was absolutely going to propose. And when I bought _this_ ring, I tore up the receipt the day I showed it to you because I always intended to give it to you - as soon as I could figure out a way to forgive you. It was always meant for you, Mac. _Always_. Because I _love_ you. I never stopped!"

"You're changing your story, Will. Now you want me to believe all the punishments you meted out are _because_ you love me?"

"Not because I love you but because I couldn't handle loving you and not having you!"

"That's not love, Will. I don't know what the hell it is, but it isn't love and I am done. It's over."

"It isn't over. And if it is, it's only because you want it to be," he says, striding back and planting himself right in front of her. "You won't even give me a chance to make things right!"

"Sound familiar?"

"Christ! Is that what this is about? I kicked you out so now you're going to return the favor?"

"No, but there's a certain amount of poetic justice to the role reversal."

He glares at her. If she thinks he's going to let her walk out of his life like this ... no. Just _no._

"No way, MacKenzie. No _way_. If you think I'm letting you walk out of my life over this, you are crazy."

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't. I am _not_ letting you go."

She looks at him, weighing her options. He doesn't want her, except as a punching bag, and now he's trying to bully his way into her life just as she's trying to put it back together. How dare he try to put her in a position where she may not be strong enough to _not_ let herself down, to _not_ break the promise she made herself? She has to make him see that she simply doesn't have the strength to endure his slights, his punishments, or his attempts to grind her into the dust anymore. She puts her hand on his shoulder, all the anger suddenly leaving her body.

"Will, listen to me. If you don't stop this, you're leaving me no choice but to say something I don't want to say. Trust me on this. You don't want to hear it."

"What?" he snorts. "Are you going to tell me you hate me?"

She just looks at him.

"Do you? Do you _hate_ me, MacKenzie?"

Not since he was a child has he wanted so badly to create a physical wound the size of the emotional one that's opened up in him now. He can survive physical pain. But this ... to allow her to walk out of his life, to never see her again? It's inconceivable. Insupportable. He won't do it. He _can't_ do it. Unless he knows it's well and truly over between them. So, he asks her to pour salt in the wound, urges her to finish it, so there will be no turning back. Even if it destroys him. And God, it will destroy him. But he no longer gives a fuck. If she wants him out of her life, she's going to have to destroy him to do it.

" _Say_ it," he hisses. "If you hate me, have the balls to look me in the eye and say it. Say it, MacKenzie. _Say_ it."

"No, I won't say it. But this has to end. I can't take it anymore, Will. Your slights, your punishments, your hatred. It hurts too much."

"Jesus Christ, MacKenzie! I don't _hate_ you! I _love_ you."

"I don't believe you and nothing you can say will convince me."

" _Why?_ _Why_ don't you believe me?"  
  
"Because I'd know it if you were being sincere."

"How?"

"I know what you looked like when you _did_ love me and I haven't seen that look on your face in _six years_."

He shakes his head incredulously. How can she be so blind? Hasn't it been perfectly obvious to anyone who's seen them together that he's still in love with her? Even Martin, _Martin_ , the most oblivious person in the office, had teased Will about it.

"You're wrong. You're just _wrong_."

"Your actions say otherwise."

"My actions say I lash out when I'm in pain! My actions say I have the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old! My actions say I wanted to hurt you as badly as you hurt me! What about recently, huh? Have I been a bastard recently? I haven't. I _haven't_!"

"I beg to differ. Telling me about the ring definitely makes you a bastard."

"I didn't tell you to hurt you! I told you because you brought it up and it was the truth! Give me some fucking credit, Mac! For the last year-and-a-half, we were getting closer, weren't we? I haven't dated anyone in over a year because it would have felt like I was cheating on you! You're my best friend and most trusted partner. Please let me fix this. Please."

"No. I don't think we should see each other again."

"You don't mean that."

"I do."

" _Don't_ throw me out of your life. I'll do anything to fix this. Anything. Please."

"I'm sorry."

"No!" he says as his face crumples. In spite of herself, his pain is killing her and even though she knows she's right, that what he feels for her is not love, it's possession, maybe, ownership, maybe, but surely after everything he's done to her it can't be love, she finds herself inexorably drawn to him. In spite of everything. In spite of her pain and because of his.

"Will," she whispers, and she's crying now, too. His eyes swing up hopefully to hers, but she shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you. It'll be better this way. You'll see."

She reaches out to touch his cheek and he turns his face to kiss her palm. The sensation of his lips on her skin, so achingly and lovingly remembered, makes her inhale sharply and a current of electricity shoots down her forearm, into her torso and straight into the area that makes believing him seem like a good idea. He turns his head slightly, skating his lips across her palm and, still paralyzed, hand frozen in place, she finds herself cupping his cheek once more. His blue eyes bore into her and she knows that he knows _exactly_ what made her gasp out loud.

She's not the only one whose breathing has quickened. She can hear his breath coming in sharp, short bursts and suddenly, that unearthly connection that pulses between them, the one so long beaten back and starved, arcs and becomes a current with the power of a billion amps. That's all it takes to propel him forward, and in one swift, smooth motion he catches her around her waist, pulls her roughly against him and presses his lips against hers. He has to show her that what they have can't be stifled or ignored or pretended away anymore-not when he's so close to losing her, not when he's got one foot dangling over the precipice and it seems MacKenzie-his only link to safety-would just as soon push him over the edge as save him.

Utterly stunned, unable to breathe, she just stands there, the sensation of his beloved lips against hers, so long remembered, now so beautifully, achingly real, rendering her incapable of rational thought. Her body tells her she needs to exhale the breath she's been holding, so she does so softly, slowly, into Will's mouth. He receives it joyfully, unwilling to believe he's made a tactical error, taking her paralysis as consent. Slowly, carefully, he continues his assault on her senses, dotting her lips with kisses so sweet, so welcome, so tender, that her lips involuntarily part and then she's inhaling his breath. It tastes so sweet, so wonderfully, deliciously _Will_ that she's finding it surprisingly easy to ignore the alarm bells going off in her head.

 _Is he ... does he mean ... is he just fucking with me .. does he really want me ... can he really love me ...?_ But her traitorous body gives not a fuck what the answers to those questions might be and her traitorous heart just wants to believe. Which is how she finds herself returning his kiss, involuntarily parting her lips to receive his tongue, and carding her fingers through his wet hair. Three words completely dominate her thoughts even as she remains silent: _I love you. I love you. I love you._

"Yes, honey, yes," he says. He doesn't say it because he accurately read her thoughts; he says it in answer to his own because having her back in his arms has afforded him a moment of perfect clarity: being with her in this way, the only way that matters, is absolutely, one-hundred-percent right. _God, I've been such an idiot!_ he thinks. He thinks, too, of the great waste of years between the first time he lost her and now. A long time gone. And it's pointless to think how those years could have been put to better use, for he could hardly have put them to worse. Nevertheless, over all those wasted years, he had held in his mind the wish to kiss her beloved lips again, and now he's done it. That's a redemption of some kind at least, the fulfillment of a desire so long deferred. 

Feeling all the precariousness of their situation, he wraps one arm more firmly around her waist, brings the other up to the back of her head and strokes her hair lightly as he continues to drive her mad with his ministrations. As he thinks about how close he came (is still coming?) to losing her, his kisses become more desperate, words spilling out of him without prior composition. He makes no effort to clamp them off. "I love you, MacKenzie, I love you," he murmurs, which brings her up short.

Is _he just fucking with her?_ She doesn't know what to think. She _wants_ to believe. She's _dying_ to believe. Every wonderful feeling she has for this man, so long pushed to the side and trampled on, has come roaring back (not that it was ever that far away to begin with). She wants desperately, _desperately_ to believe, but she has to be sure, so she opens her eyes to stare into his, to discover the truth of his feelings, but she doesn't find what she's looking for.

His eyes have gone dark with desire, but his expression is nothing like the one he wore when they were together before. She'd had no doubts about the depth of his affection then: he'd looked at her with such ardent and naked devotion she'd never doubted for an instant that he was madly in love with her. She doesn't know that what she sees now is the product of three years of brute-force conditioning, of adopting the veneer of a cynic to blunt the pain of having her in his life but not in his bed. It's become so practiced, so rote, that he hardly knows where the real Will ends and the construct begins. His expression now is too guarded and too controlled to allow her to see into his soul: all she can see is a desire to maintain the status quo.

As she tries-and fails-to discern in his eyes some semblance of the love that used to warm her, the combined weight of his punishments, his cutting words, his distance-his _women_ -cools her ardour.

 _It doesn't matter that he's kissing me, it doesn't matter that he says he loves me. I know what he looked like when he_ did _, and he looks nothing like that now._

_He's just fucking with me. Again._

_He just wants to hurt me. Again._

_Goddamn him._

She puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him away. Hard.

"Stop it, Will. Just _stop_ it."

"Why?" he exclaims, stumbling backwards. The instant he regains his footing he's propelling himself forward, grabbing her by her shoulders and pulling her back into his arms. "You just kissed me. With your _tongue._  Which means you still have feelings for me! Why are you pretending you _don't_?"

"Of course, I still have feelings for you, you idiot! You think I'd have put up with you for the last three years if I didn't?" she says, trying to shove him away again but he refuses to let her go. If the events of the last twenty minutes have proved anything to him it's that talking is useless: the only way he's going to cut through this bullshit is by exploiting the physical connection they share.

He is _not_ going to lose her again.

But she isn't having any of it. "I can't do this anymore, Will. No matter what you say, you still want to punish me and I can't take it."

She tries to ignore the fact that she's in his arms, that all her traitorous body wants to do is loop her arms around his neck and kiss him for the next hundred years. Instead, she forces herself to remember that he can't be trusted, no matter what he's saying.

"I love you and you love me so _what_ is the fucking problem, MacKenzie? What else do we need?"

She's beginning to think maybe she misjudged his intentions in coming here tonight: maybe he _does_ believe he loves her but even if that's what he believes, she can't allow herself to forget that as recently as a week ago he still wanted to punish her. No matter how much he'd like to delude himself, that's the only possible explanation for telling her about the ring. And no matter what he says, no matter what he's telling himself, she just doesn't have the stamina to endure any more of his punishments. She hasn't slept in weeks and she's just so tired, so depleted. She can't afford to get her hopes up again, only to have him grind them-and her-into the dust.

And no matter what he says, no matter what lies he's telling himself, the desire to punish her will always be there.

She knows that even if he doesn't.

"We both have to want this and I _don't_ ," she says with finality.

He flinches, then stares at her, aghast. _"Why?"_  he implores her.

"We had something wonderful once that I broke into a million pieces and you ground what was left of it into dust. We can't go back. It's not possible. There's been too much ugliness, too much pain. I need to think clearly about what's best for me and figure out how the hell I let my life get so far out of hand."

"There's nothing wrong with you that sleep and a vacation won't cure. We can take a couple of weeks off when things settle down with Genoa. We can go to the Catskills, rent that cabin we stayed in that time -"

"I can't wait that long. And I can't fix anything so long as you're in the picture."

He exhales audibly. "You really want me out of the picture?"

She nods.

"For how long?"

She hesitates. "Permanently. I don't think we should see each other again."

Stunned and furious, he grabs her elbow. "Forget it. I _know_ you love me. I _know_ you do."

"I do - I do love you. But I don't know which you I love: the man you are now or the man you were before. I don't trust you and I don't trust myself and too much has happened for us to go back."

"I don't want to go back," he says, the awful import of her words making tears spring instantly to his eyes. "I want to go forward. With you."

"I don't want to, Will. I don't. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want a clean break. A fresh start."

"No."

"Yes. It has to be over. I wish you nothing but the best -"

"Don't you dare give me that 'I wish you nothing but the best' crap. And you can save your breath because I'm not letting you go. You're too important to me."

"This isn't a cooperative where each of us gets an equal vote. This is _my_ life. _Mine._ And I will decide who's in it, based on what's best for me. I've spent the last three years taking your shit and I've had it. I'm done. It's over."

"I'm not going to give you any more shit! I know you're angry with me and you think this is the right thing to do, but I am telling you it's not - it is absolutely the _wrong_ thing to do."

"You're not listening to me, Will."

"I _am_ listening to you. I _am_. But if you do this, you're throwing the baby out with the bath water. Yes, we have problems but that's not all we have and that's not all we could have. Think about it. What was it like when we were together before? Were you happy or were you just going through the motions?"

"I was happy."

"Truly happy?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why were you happy?"

"Because I was in love with you."

"I was in love with you, too, and I have never felt that strongly about anyone before or since. So, you'll forgive me if I'm reluctant to part with you."

"You willingly parted with me for six years."

"I was one-hundred-percent unwilling to part with you. But I thought I didn't have a choice."

"So what the hell's changed in a week?"

"I had an epiphany on election night. I realized that except for what you did wrong, you did everything right. The rest was me."

 _What?_ She shakes her head, trying to parse what that means, what it _might_ mean, but she no longer seems to have the wherewithal to do it. She's just so tired of the whole sordid mess, of trying to divine bits of hidden meaning from tiny clues dropped here and there, of trying to pretend that every minute she spends around him isn't absolute torture.

"It's too late, Will. And if I truly mattered to you, you'd have had your epiphany a lot sooner. The only reason you're here is because I left and forced your hand. If I'd stayed, if I were in my office right this minute you'd be ignoring me or saying something cutting to hurt me. Face it. You wanted to punish me as recently as a week ago. You had to have known how much telling me about the ring would hurt me. You may not have consciously wanted to but subconsciously you did. And you'll do it again. You don't love me. You may think you do, you may even wish you did, but you don't. You haven't loved me for years. I don't blame you but it hurts. It really fucking hurts and I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I don't have it in me."

"I'm never going to hurt you again. Please let me prove it to you."

"I don't want you to prove it to me. I want it to be over. It will be better this way, Will," she repeats. "You'll see."

He kneels before her, takes her hand and looks up at her, eyes brimming with tears. His life is pouring out of his feet and seeping through cracks in the floor but he doesn't move for fear she'll let go of his hand.

"It won't be better this way. It _won't_."

"It will be better for me," she says quietly and he feels like she's just punched him in the gut.

_Is that really what she needs?_

_To be free of him?_

No.

He can't do it.

He _won't_ do it.

Even for her.

He can't.

He won't.

He just has to come up with a way to convince her.

But what? How?

"MacKenzie -" he says, but stops when he realizes the gravity, the terrible finality of the situation.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

It will be better for her.

For her.

For _her_.

As much as he wants to grab her, crush her against his chest and never let her go, it will be better for her if he lets her go.

He doesn't have a choice.

He has to do as she asks.

For her sake.

He has to do it for her sake.

What else can he do?

Fuck.

"Okay," he whispers, defeated. "Okay, okay," he says, trying to get a grip on himself. He'll get through this. He will. He's survived worse than this. But oh God, how is he going to survive never seeing her again, knowing that it was all his fault?

He drops her hand and gets to his feet, angrily brushing a tear from his eye.

"Here," he says, thrusting the Tiffany box at her. "I want you to have this."

"No."

"Sell it. It'll help tide you over until you find a new job. You're not going to get severance pay if you're fired."

"No."

"Please. Just take it. I don't want it."

"You can return it."

"I told you. I tore up the receipt the day I showed it to you."

"You can give it - "

"To someone else? God, you really do think I'm a monster. Let me tell you something, MacKenzie. There has never been anyone else I wanted to marry and there will never be anyone else I want to marry. Not for as long as I live."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Believe me. I do."

She shakes her head, so he forces himself to turn away from her, forces himself to place one foot in front of the other as he makes his way back to the bathroom. When he makes it there, he closes the door behind him and just stands there, with his back to the door, trying not to cry. When he manages to get hold of himself, he rips the socks off his feet, places them on the bathroom vanity and tucks the ring box into one of them. He gathers his things, makes his way back to the front door and sees MacKenzie standing next to it, rooted to the spot, trying to make sense of what the hell is going on in her head.

 _Is this really what I want? To let him walk out of my life?_ she thinks. _No, but it hurts too much. It will be better this way. No more punishments. A fresh start._

He takes one last long look at her, drinking her in. How had he fucked things up so badly? He wants to die. He literally wants to _die._ How is he going to live without her? He doesn't know how and he has zero fucking interest in learning; he'll never be anything close to happy again, so what's the fucking point? The best he can hope for is to be murdered on his way to the hotel. But he can worry about that later after he's done his duty and said goodbye. 

He forces himself to look into her eyes, to _not_ utter the words on his lips:  _Let me stay. Please don't make me go._ _I'll do anything, MacKenzie, anything. Please._

His stay of execution doesn't come, so he says the only thing he's allowed to say.

"Goodbye," he chokes out. "I know you don't believe me, but I love you. I _love_ you. And I'm so sorry. For everything. Be well," he says.

He doesn't wait for her reply, just opens the door and then he's gone.

She dissolves into sobs, though she'd be hard-pressed to articulate exactly why. Is it because she hurt him so terribly? Because he hurt her so terribly? Because it's truly the end? Or is it because she knows the Will she loves is still in there and she may well have destroyed him again?

_What is the truth?_

When he makes it to the front curb, he, too, dissolves into tears. How is he going to live without her? He doesn't even want to _live_. His heart has been stolen, torn from his chest by someone who wants no part of it. 

"Will?" comes a gentle voice from behind him. He turns around, hoping to find MacKenzie, but it's only Harriet.

He tries to pull himself together, staring at his feet, trying to stop the tears. "Sorry," he says. He feels her hand on his back, rubbing it in smooth circles. It must be a McHale family remedy: MacKenzie has done the same thing to him hundreds of times.

"Come this way," Harriet says.

"I'll be alright. I should be going. Thanks for ... your concern."

"Seriously, come here. You can't get into a cab like that. People will recognize you: this city's crawling with Americans."

He just wants to leave but she has a point. He lets her lead him down a path to a small guest cottage they have in the back garden.

She takes a key from beneath a flower pot at their feet, unlocks the door and flips on the light. Then she motions him to take a chair next to the fireplace.

"You were arguing rather loudly and we couldn't help overhearing ... " She stops. "I'm so sorry. She hasn't been herself since she came back. She's exhausted and strange and acts like whatever's going on in her head is the absolute truth when it may not be the objective truth. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat and looking down.

"We're worried about her."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with her," he says. "She's a little irrational but it's because she's exhausted. I don't think she's slept more than a couple of hours a night in weeks. She'll pull out of it when she has a chance to rest. You'll make sure she does, right?"

"Yes, though I'm not sure how." She stares at his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It's obvious to her that Will is sincere and she can't help thinking not only has her sister completely misread the situation, she's going to regret it as soon as she realizes her mistake. But she can't say that out loud because she doesn't want to get his hopes up.

"Listen," Will says. "She's had insomnia for the last few weeks so she'd call me in the middle of the night and I'd play my guitar and sing until she fell asleep. I didn't know how tonight was going to go so I recorded a few of the songs in case she wanted them. I can AirDrop them to you if you think they might help."

"You're a good man, Will McAvoy," she says, touched.

"Yeah, too bad you're the only one who thinks so."

"She does, too. I know it. If she wasn't so tired ..." she stops when she sees the hopeful look on his face.

Recognizing the reason for her reluctance, he doesn't press it. "Listen, I should go," he says after AirDropping the files. "Thanks for giving me a chance to pull myself together."

"You're welcome."

"Can I tell you something?" he says. "Just in case it ever comes up?"

"Sure."

"I know she thinks I told her I love her just to fuck with her but I didn't. I _didn't_. I _love_ her. And I honestly don't know how I'm going to live without her." His lips tremble and he starts to cry again. "Shit. I really shouldn't have thought that - let alone said it out loud. I should go."

"Will, I'm so sorry. She's usually so much more ... I don't know ... easygoing than this. You've always given her shit and she always let it roll off her back."

"I think it was easier for her to take when she uh ... when she loved me. But she doesn't - not anymore. Or ... not in the same way or ... enough ... or something like that. That's what she said. Which is a real kick in the ass for me 'cause apart from my mother and my two sisters, I think she's the only person who ever did. Love me, I mean. Fuck, I don't know why I'm telling you this shit. Sorry. Anyway, I guess I'm down to two now and I don't even talk to them. Listen," he says, ashamed. "I took MacKenzie for granted. I assumed she'd be there when I got my shit together. I was so stupid."

He stands up. "Anyway, thanks again. I don't suppose we'll run into each other but if you're ever in New York and need a place to stay or just want to say 'hi,' give me a call."

"I will. And you, too, Will. If you're ever in London, give me a call. Where are you staying tonight?"

"The Savoy."

He holds out his hand and is surprised when she pulls him in for a hug. "I shouldn't say this but I'm gonna work on her from this end, okay?" she says. "I don't know if it's going to work but I am one-hundred-percent sure she's going to regret this. Whether she'll be willing to admit it is another story. I shouldn't say this, either, but I know she loves you, Will. As much as you love her. It's completely obvious to anyone who's ever seen the two of you together. She's been crying over you for _years_. Feelings that strong don't disappear in a week."

"I wish that was true. She may love me a little but she hates me more."

"I know my sister and she doesn't. She loves you. She's just exhausted and angry and hurt. That's what this is."

"You think she'll change her mind?"

"I don't know. But if she doesn't, it's not because she doesn't love you."

"Thanks, Harriet. Goodbye."

She watches him go and heads back into the house to talk to her sister.

She finds her sitting on the couch with their mother, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Well, Mackie, you've really mucked it up this time," Harriet says, plopping down on the other end of the couch.

"I thought you left."

"Nope. I was consoling the man you love."  
  
"You were with Will?"

"Yep."

"How is he?"

"Devastated," she says, pushing MacKenzie's feet onto the floor. "But that's what you wanted, right? To destroy him? To hurt him as badly as he hurt you? Well, you can congratulate yourself on a job well done."

"What are you talking about?" MacKenzie says, incensed, even as a wave of guilt washes over her. Did she do the right thing? Could he really have meant everything he said? What will he do? If he's that devastated, what will he do? "I just wanted some peace."

"Well, I hope you find it. But I don't think he will."

"What do you mean?"

"He's devastated, Mackie. _Devastated._ I found him at the curb, crying his eyes out. He said, and I quote, he doesn't know how he's going to live without you."

"He said that?"

"Yep. That doesn't sound to me like a man who's insincere. What do you think, Mum? Do you think Will was sincere or was he just trying to jerk Mackie around?"

"I'm not wading into this one, Harriet. This is Mackie's life. She knows Will better than we do and if she thinks he was insincere, who are we to tell her otherwise? I'm going to bed. Goodnight, dears."

"Goodnight, Mum," they chorus.

MacKenzie turns to her sister. "You think I'm being cruel."

"I think you're exhausted and not thinking clearly and you're convinced your interpretation of Will's behavior is a fact when it's just an interpretation. And you're going to regret it."

"Why?"

Harriet smirks. "Because you're in love with him. Because you were French-kissing him two minutes after you turned him down."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, he told _you_ that. When you were arguing, remember? Surely you don't think those rickety old wooden doors are soundproof."

"So you heard our entire conversation."

"Yep. And I'm telling you, you're wrong. He does love you. And you love him."

"I'm still attracted to him, yes, but that's not all there is to a healthy relationship. Besides, there's all this other stuff between us that's just toxic."

"It's been so long since you were together I doubt you have any idea what's actually between you. Having sex with him might clear a bit of the debris away."

"You want me to have sex with him?"

"Oh, don't act so high and mighty. It's not like you'd be opposed to it, Ms. French kiss. Let me ask you something, Mackie. Did it ever occur to you that the man who told you about the ring might not be the same one who bought it?"

"Meaning?"

"Let's assume he  _did_ buy that ring to hurt you. Would he have bought it today? To hurt you?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do," Harriet says, getting up. "If you change your mind, he's staying at the Savoy tonight." 

Stricken, MacKenzie just stares at her sister. Even if what she's saying is true, the desire to punish looms large with Will. He's always going to want to do it and she can't take it. Not anymore. 

That doesn't stop her from looking up the address of the Savoy or calculating how many minutes it would take a cab to get her there. Thirteen. He's thirteen minutes away from her. She tosses and turns until 5:00 AM, agonizing over whether to go to him. The part of her that isn't beaten down and demoralized wants nothing more than to do just that but she owes it to the other part of herself to make the decision. She loves him, she does. She wants him. As much as she ever did. But she doesn't trust him. And she doesn't trust herself. She has to put him out of her mind so she can focus on her own future. On getting out from under Genoa and the weight of everything she left behind in New York.

She has to let him go.

She does.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Early December 2012**

Weeks pass and slowly, slowly, MacKenzie begins to feel like herself again. She's sleeping more soundly these days (no thanks to Will's songs since she can't bear to listen to them), and thinking more clearly. It's a relief to be away from New York and all the reminders of a job poorly done. Even so, she's surprised to discover that her reputation—on this side of the pond at least—seems to be intact.

She's been offered two producing jobs in London: one for a morning news show and another for an afternoon talk show. She has until January 3 to decide. Neither prospect thrills her, so the offer letters sit on her nightstand for days. Although either would provide her with some much-needed stability, she longs for the thrill of a nightly news broadcast. Those are the waters in which she's accustomed to swimming and neither show will give her the latitude she had at NewsNight.

Perhaps most important, neither show will give her a fast car to drive. Not like the one she had in Will. The news presenters she'd be saddled with on the morning program seem competent enough, but she can't imagine either of them going for the jugular. As for the hosts of the afternoon talk show ... well ... they're amiable enough, but their on-air conversational skills seem to be leagues below the man with whom she can't stop comparing everyone.

_Will._

He's never far from her thoughts. Although she's convinced that she made the right decision (depending on the minute and the day), she misses him like hell. No matter what pain they may have caused each other over the years, it feels as if half of her is missing. Certainly, half her heart is. There's simply a hole in the world where he used to be.

An iron will keeps her from falling into that hole during daylight hours, but the night offers no such protection. She dreams about him every night and one morning, she awakens with a start to memories of a dream so vivid, so achingly beautiful that she can't get it off her mind. In it, he'd been making slow, deep, deliberate love to her, his body thrusting into hers, staring into her eyes with tenderness and lust and pure  _love_. No one has ever made love to her like he did (both in the dream and in real life), with every bit of his attention focused on her, with every bit of his concentration dedicated to ensuring she rose as high as he did. She'd never felt so loved.

If dreams are in the business of communicating repressed desires, she guesses she finally knows what she really wants.

She just doesn't know if it's good for her.

Or if she can trust him.

Throughout the day, she's assaulted by the emotions left in the dream's wake (joy, clarity, peace) and later a perverse bout of melancholy sets in. She can't help thinking that never again will she have someone whose body was made for hers, whose hands fit perfectly around hers, whose arms fit perfectly around her. For the last eight years, even though they weren't always together, Will has been her anchor in the chaos, the only thing that could chase away all of her insecurities and fear and loneliness.

How does that just end? 

**December 18, 2012**

She can't get Will or ACN off her mind. She's spoken briefly with the rest of the staff but not with Jim, and she thinks he must be pissed at her because she left. In reality, he's got his hands full with the new regime and they keep missing each other's calls.

One evening, he finally gets through. She's on her laptop, trying to find a bed-and-breakfast she and Harriet can rent for a mini-break they're taking in January when Jim's FaceTime call comes in. Harriet sits beside her on her bed.

"It's Jim," she says to her sister. "I have to take this. Do you mind?" 

"Go ahead."

MacKenzie grins when Jim's beloved face fills the screen. His hair is longer and he looks a little rough around the edges but it's absolutely marvellous to see him again. 

"Jimmy! Long time no speak," she says happily. "How are you? Wait - before you answer that, you should know that my sister is here. Harriet, this is Jim Harper, producer extraordinaire. He's the one who saved my life in Afghanistan. Jim, my sister Harriet."

"Thanks for taking care of my sister," Harriet tells him.

"You're welcome." he says, smiling awkwardly.

"I've missed you," MacKenzie tells him. "How is everything?"

"I've missed you, too, Mac," he says sincerely. He has. More than she knows. "It's not the same without you. You're looking good, though. You feeling better?"

"Much. Are you letting your hair grow out?" she teases him.

"No time for a haircut. Listen," he says. "Sorry for not trying harder to keep in touch. It's a shit-show around here and I'm just trying to keep it together."

"The lawsuit was dropped," she says, with sudden concern. "The show wasn't cancelled. What's wrong?" 

"Not what -  _who_. Jane's a nightmare. I'm working 24/7 to keep her in line."

"Jane Barrow?"

"Yeah. She's a real piece of work."

MacKenzie's brow furrows in confusion. "Why are you dealing with Jane? Isn't she in DC?"

"Uh _no_ , she's in New York. Making me miserable," Jim says, as if MacKenzie's a complete fucking moron.

"What's she doing in New York?" MacKenzie says, utterly confused.

He looks at her strangely. "Anchoring the show."

MacKenzie struggles to make sense of what he's telling her. She'd cancelled all her ACN/Will/Genoa-related Google alerts as soon as she arrived in London, so she has no idea what he's talking about.

"Why is Jane co-anchoring the show? Was that part of the deal AWM had to make to keep it on the air?" she says.

Now it's Jim's turn to squint in confusion. "Co-anchoring? She's _the_ anchor. The  _sole_  anchor. You didn't know?"

MacKenzie's stomach falls straight into her shoes.

" _Jane_  is anchoring the show? Without  _Will_? Where is he?"

"Jesus, Mac. You didn't know?"

"You're scaring me, Jim.  _Where_  is Will?"

"He doesn't work here anymore."

MacKenzie gasps.

"What do you mean? Did they give him another show or ..." she says in a small voice, hardly able to get the next words out of her mouth.  "...did they fire him?" 

"Neither. He quit."

_"What? When?"_

"About a month ago."

_"Why?"_

"He didn't want to do the show without you."

Nausea floods her system. 

_Oh my God, I've destroyed him personally and professionally. Finally. Completely. Irrevocably. What have I done?_

"That's what Charlie said," Jim is saying. "Something like that. I'm sorry, Mac. I thought you knew."

"Start from the beginning, Jim. Tell me everything."

"He came back from London, hardly said a word, did the show a few times and then one day he just cleared his stuff out and left. Didn't say goodbye to anyone. He was just gone. Charlie was furious. Elliot and Sloan filled in for a few days until Jane came down and it's been hell ever since."

"Has anyone talked to him?" she says, a wave of dread washing over her. "Is he alright!?"

"I don't know. I assume he is. Something would have come down the wire if he wasn't."

"Christ, Jim, that's hardly reassuring!"

"Why don't you call him? What the hell happened in London, anyway, Mac? He was a basket case when he came back."

She swallows hard, trying to choke back the bile rising in her throat. "We said some things - I said some things I shouldn't have. He walked out and I haven't spoken to him since. Listen, I'm going to call Charlie. We'll catch up later, okay? I love you."

"Let me know what you find out. I love you, too."

She practically hangs up on Jim mid-sentence in her haste to get to Charlie. Her stupid cell phone is dead and the landline is downstairs so she has no choice but to FaceTime him, too (his grandson got him into it, so she doesn't think he'll mind). He picks up on the fourth ring. 

"Charlie," she says, resisting the urge to burst into tears as his beloved face fills the screen.

"MacKenzie McHale!" he says warmly. "How's London treating you? You look good. Rested. How are you?"

"Fine. It's lovely to see you. Listen," she says abruptly. "I just spoke to Jim. Will _quit_?"

"You didn't know?"

"I've been avoiding the news and Will and I aren't on speaking terms. How is he?" she says with trepidation.

"I don't know. We aren't on speaking terms, either. I was pretty pissed he just took off like that. I left him a few messages but he hasn't returned my calls."

"When was the last time you spoke to him?"

"About a month ago. When he quit."

 _My God_ , she thinks.  _Anything could have happened to him. Anything! What have I done? Please let him be alright. Please._

" _Charlie!_  Will doesn't have many friends. If you haven't spoken to him, anything could have happened and we wouldn't know! Can you go check on him? Now? Please."

"I assumed he was just licking his wounds and that he'd call me when he was ready but ... maybe you're right. I'll go now."

"Thank you. Call me. As soon as you see him?"

"I will."

She hangs up, tears pricking at her eyes.

"Oh God, Harry," she says out loud. "He has to be alright."

"I'm sure he's fine, Mackie. Maybe he got another show."

MacKenzie does a quick search for stories about Will. Dozens of articles come up about his abrupt departure but there's nothing recent and nothing about a new show. Which means he's probably not working. 

_What have I done?_

\------

Thirty minutes later, Charlie is standing at the security desk in Will's building.

"I'm here to see Will McAvoy. My name's Charlie Skinner."

The man looks at him strangely but picks up the phone.

A moment later, the man starts speaking into the mouthpiece. "Mr. McAvoy? Charlie Skinner is here to see you." He waits a beat, listening to Will's response, then hangs up and looks at Charlie apologetically. "He said to thank you for stopping by but now's not a good time. He said to tell you he'd call you later."

"Is he alone?"

"I can't tell you that, Sir."

"I understand, but no one has seen or spoken to Will in a month and we're worried about him. We just want to make sure he's alright. Have you seen him lately? How does he look?"

"I'll let you speak with my supervisor."

Charlie repeats the story to the next man, emphasizing the fact that they're worried about Will.

"I'm not really at liberty to say how he is, Sir."

"Pardon my French, but I don't give a damn what you're at liberty to say. I'm the president of the news division at ACN and Will was my star anchor up until a month ago when he quit and dropped off the face of the Earth. I know he's alive because he just took your colleague's phone call. What I don't know is whether he's alright. Have you seen him? How does he look? Is he alone right now? Is that why he doesn't want visitors?"

"He's alone, Sir. Please don't tell him I said anything but ... no. I don't think he's alright."

"Please explain."

"He hasn't shaved. He looks ... rumpled. He ... smells like alcohol. Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think he's had a visitor in over a month."

Charlie thinks.

"Does he ever receive deliveries? Does anyone ever go up there? How does he get groceries?"

"There's a grocery delivery service. He usually lets them up."

"Is he expecting one?"

"Not that I know of."

"Well, I have some mail he received at the office, so I could conceivably deliver it to him now, couldn't I?"

"He usually picks up his mail down here."

"Yes, well, there's been some sort of mix-up."

"I could lose my job, Sir."

"Will is many things, but he's not an ass. To most people, anyway. I doubt he'll report this. And if he does, come see me at ACN and I will get you a job there. Here's my card."

The guard picks up the phone.

"Mr. McAvoy, you have a parcel that requires your signature."

He places his hand over the telephone mouthpiece.

"He says you can go up."

The elevator dings and Will waits expectantly. He's stunned when Charlie ambles out of the car.

"Will, it's good to see you," Charlie says, trying not to look aghast at the sight of his former protégé. Will's hair is long, his face unshaven, and he smells like he's been living on alcohol alone. He's also lost at least ten pounds and his apartment is in disarray.

"Here's your mail," Charlie says. "Doesn't require a signature, though. And don't take it out on your man downstairs, either. I had to push him hard to let me up."

"Charlie -" Will sighs and looks around. "Excuse the mess."

"Are you referring to the apartment or yourself? Will, what's going on? Talk to me, Son. You look like hell."

He rubs his eyes. "I'm fine, Charlie. You don't have to worry about me."

"You don't look fine. And I do worry about you. Just 'cause you left me in the lurch doesn't mean I don't love you."

It's been a month since he's seen a friendly face and tears well in his eyes. He's missed Charlie. He's missed doing the news. He doesn't know what he's doing now. He has nothing to look forward to. There's no end in sight. The world has been emptied of hope and he is most persistently, most unwillingly alive. One has to go on living because it's less trouble than finding a way out, but his very purpose has been shattered, trampled into the mud that covers his dashed hopes.

"I'm sorry about that," Will says. "I should have given you more notice. I just - I felt like I couldn't stay - not without -"

"MacKenzie?"

He looks down and nods. "Yeah."

"She didn't know you quit."

Will's eyes swing up.

"Yeah. Jim filled her in today. That's why I'm here. She called and asked me to check on you. She's worried about you. We all are, actually. I thought I was doing you a favor, letting you lick your wounds, but I see now I should have come much earlier. You're a mess."

"I fucked everything up, Charlie. And I can't fix it."

"Will, nobody fired you. You quit. You could have your job back tomorrow if you wanted it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jane is making every person on staff miserable and her ratings are in the toilet. We can send her back to DC and put you back where you belong."

"That's - that's really nice to hear. Really. But ... I can't. Not without -"

"MacKenzie?" he says again.

He nods and looks down again.

"Will, what happened when you went to London?"

"I asked her to marry me but ... she refused. She didn't think I was serious. She thought it was some scheme, an elaborate hoax to hurt her."

"Oh, Will."

"She reminded me of every single thing I'd done since she came back to punish her and it was an extensive list. She said I'd been the man of any woman's dreams when we were together but I'd turned into someone she didn't recognize. A bastard. Then she told me she'd paid for her sins - in full - and that she never wanted to see me again."

"Oh, Will," he says again. "I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault, Charlie. All of it. She hates me and I don't blame her. I don't know how things got so out of hand."

"She doesn't hate you. Are you still seeing that psychiatrist you told me about?"

"Three times a week."

"Is it helping?"

"Some."

"Listen," Charlie says. "I have to get back for a meeting but have dinner with me tomorrow night, will you? We can talk about what's next for you."

"It's okay, Charlie, really. You don't have to worry about me. We can get together some other time."

"We'll get together tomorrow. At seven. I'll send a car. Unless you have other plans?"

"No. Alright."

When Charlie leaves Will, he calls MacKenzie, who's biting her nails and staring at the screen, waiting for Charlie's call to come in.

_Please let him be alright. Please._

She doesn't bother saying hello when he calls. "Did you see him?" she says anxiously.

"He's fine," Charlie reassures her.

MacKenzie slumps back in her chair. "Thank God."

"Well, not fine, but he's alive." MacKenzie sits back up immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"He's not sick or anything but he's lost a lot of weight and ... he smells like a distillery."

"He's drinking?"  _Oh my God. John McAvoy was a drunk. Did I turn Will into a drunk, too?_

"Yeah ... he's ... depressed."

"Because of the show?"

"That and ... he feels terrible about what happened between you two."

"Oh, Charlie," she says, bursting into fresh tears. "It's all my fault! I did this! Will's drinking and you're stuck with Jane Barrow! I'm so sorry! What can I do?"

"You can call him. I think he'd like to hear from you."

"I'm not so sure. I said some terrible things to him."

"Did you mean them?"

She hesitates. "Not all of them."

"Then he'll absolutely want to hear from you. In fact, you may be the only one who can pull him out of this."

"What do you mean?"

"You just said you didn't mean some of the things you said to him. If that's true ... I think it would mean the world to him to hear you say that. He kept saying what a terrible person he is, how he treated you so badly and he doesn't blame you for hating him."

"I was exhausted and wasn't thinking clearly, Charlie! I didn't mean half of what I said. It's all my fault. I have to call him."

"Yeah ... and ... I don't mean to scare you but ... don't wait. He's in a bad place."

"I'll call him now. Thanks, Charlie."

"Good. Let me know how it goes. And keep in touch. We sure miss you around here, kid."

"I miss you, too. More than you know."

She hangs up and calls Will but he doesn't answer.

She leaves a message, stilted and strange: "Hi Will, it's me. I ... uh ... just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. I spoke with Jim and he told me what happened. Call me, okay?"

He doesn't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 7 and 8 are for Mettespo. :) Thanks to everyone for reading!

* * *

The next day, Will leaves a message for Charlie cancelling dinner. He doesn't want to deal with Charlie's concern and he suspects he's lost whatever facility he ever had for making small talk, anyway. It's physically hard for him to get the words out these days and when they do come, they don't come out quite as smoothly as they used to; they come out in chunks instead, which he stumbles over as they gather behind his lips. All in all, it's just easier to remain silent. Besides, if anyone speaks to him or looks at him too closely he's afraid he'll cry. The tiny bit of time he'd spent with Charlie yesterday had proven that: by the time the man had taken his leave, Will could feel the tears sloshing in him like water in a teetering glass, perilously close to overflowing.

He doesn't have a plan, exactly; he's just hoping that one day he'll wake up and feel like beginning again. As it is now, he's surrounded by darkness, incapacitated by lethargy, and suffused with loneliness. It's a state of being made much worse by the knowledge that he did it all to himself: he fucked up the most important relationship in his life and it's hopeless. He always thought a human being could survive almost anything so long as there was an end in sight (a belief that had served him well in childhood), but in this case, it's impossible to see the exit. Habib says the obvious, that he's depressed, but Will prefers to think of it as being realistic. His old life is over and, at the moment, he has no desire to build a new one.

It's a fairly mundane story: the sun has simply stopped shining for him. He's miserable. He's miserable all the time and the misery is so heavy that he can't get away from it. Ever.

MacKenzie's absence is like the sky, spread over everything. He can feel her absence in his body, too, which now feels like an empty house. Everything is tinged with a vague sense of wrongness, of something amiss. There's nothing overtly wrong but the atmosphere, the taste, every part of his experience has been poisoned. 

He looks back at his treatment of her over the last three years, and he's filled with shame and regret.

Dr. Habib urges him to see that his childhood set him up to react that way: "There are two ways adults who were abused as children react to the trauma: one is that they become anxious and easily upset. They avoid direct eye contact that could be interpreted as a challenge. Others react as you do: if someone hits you, you just hit them back harder until they can't get up anymore. Until they can't hurt you anymore. You don't think, you don't question, you just do it. Blindly."

"That doesn't let me off the hook," Will says. "I always knew I loved her. I knew I wanted to forgive her. How did I not see that every crappy thing I did to her wasn't evening the scales - it was just destroying whatever goodwill she felt towards me? I'm a grown man. I should have been able to see what I was doing. I should have stopped myself. I should have seen that I was just making things worse."

"Yes, you should have. But without the tools to do so, how could you?"

Will shakes his head, ashamed, once again overcome with self-loathing. "God, I'm contemptible. Desperate for a woman who wants nothing to do with me." 

"It's funny," Habibi says. "We act like a desire for affection is a horrible thing. But no one calls a child selfish because it wants its mother. Nor should we say that of a grown man who only wants the woman he loves. Everything you feel is perfectly natural, Will. Stop beating yourself up over it." 

Habib keeps trying to get him to look at what happened another way: "Given the multiple ways what happened can be interpreted, is there some possibility this is not the catastrophe you think it is? Things are off-center now, but they won't always be. Even if it's too late for you and MacKenzie, you're not condemned to repeat the mistakes of the past in your next relationship. You can change the way you react in the heat of the moment, you can choose to behave differently."

"I don't want another relationship."

"Not now, perhaps, but you will. Eventually."

"No."

"Be that as it may be. In case you do ever enter into another relationship, or if you ever do get another chance with MacKenzie, ask yourself this: were you really listening to her when she told you all her reservations about resuming your relationship? Or were you just steamrolling her in hopes of getting the answer you wanted?"

"I thought I was really listening, but maybe I wasn't. I think maybe I was a little too desperate to listen."

"I think that may have hurt your chances. You have to realize that the point of conversation is not to win, but to learn something. Some of my clients complain their wife or husband doesn't listen to them, so I'll sometimes suggest they do a little experiment: the next time they get into an argument, no one's allowed to defend their own position until they've restated the feelings of their partner to the partner's satisfaction. If you ever do get another chance with her - or with anyone, really - you need to listen to what she's saying and tell her in concrete terms how you're going to address her concerns. Because ultimately, the agenda of the conversation has to be, 'I want to move forward with _both_ of our best interests in mind.'"

Will knows Habib's right. He just doesn't think he'll ever get the chance.

He sinks further into depression and ignores Charlie's continued attempts to try to get in touch with him. Charlie leaves a message inviting Will to Connecticut for Christmas, another inviting him to his and Nancy's New Year's Eve bash, and another inviting him to have lunch right after the holidays.

Will doesn't return any of his calls and Charlie grows increasingly worried.

**December 20, 2012**

Charlie shows up at Will's building. Will doesn't answer the security guard's call and the security guard in question apparently has more exacting standards than the others because he won't let Charlie up without Will's permission. Charlie calls MacKenzie as soon as he leaves Will's building.

"MacKenzie? It's Charlie. I haven't been able to get hold of Will since I went over there the other day. The people at the front desk won't let me up and I have no way of getting in touch with him. Does he have another cell phone I could call? Can you think of another way to get through to him?"

"Do you think something's happened?"

"I don't know. I've just got a bad feeling about it. Have you heard from him?"

"No. I leave a message for him every day but he hasn't phoned back."

"Well, this can't go on. We need to make sure he's okay."

"His psychiatrist," MacKenzie says, thinking quickly. "We can ask him to do a wellness check."

"What's his name?"

"Habib. Jacob Habib."

"OK, I'll call him."

"I'll do it," she says.

The guilt is eating her alive, so at least she'll be doing something. She looks up Dr. Habib's number online and calls his office.

"Hello, I'd like to leave a message for Dr. Habib."

"Are you a client?"

"No."

"I'm sorry. He's very busy. I can't take messages if you're not a client."

"This concerns one of his clients. Will McAvoy. It's urgent. Can you please ask Dr. Habib to call me?"

She gives the receptionist her cell phone number. MacKenzie can't help thinking of the strangeness of it all. This is a man who sees Will more than she does, knows more about him at this point than she does. How did things get so out of hand?

Dr. Habib calls back five minutes later.

"Ms. McHale?" Dr. Habib says quickly, anxiety evident in his voice. "I got your message. What's wrong? Is Will alright?"

"I don't know - that's why I wanted to speak with you. No one's been able to get in touch with him for a few days and I know you've been seeing him and I wanted to find out if he's been keeping his appointments. Have you seen him? Is he alright?"

"I saw him yesterday," he says, relaxing. "He's okay. A little worse for wear, but he's okay." He can hear MacKenzie breathe a sigh of relief.

"He's isolating himself," she says. "What can we do to help him?"

"Ms. McHale - "

"MacKenzie. Please."

"MacKenzie, then. I can't discuss a client with you. I'm sorry."

"I understand ... it's just ... we're at a loss ... Charlie - his old boss - and I. We don't know what to do."

Dr. Habib waits a beat, but in the end, his loyalty is all to Will. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. I'm with another client. I have to go."

"I understand but ... do you think he's in any danger? I mean ... do you think he's a danger to himself?"

She waits apprehensively for his answer.

"No. I don't think you have to worry about anything like that."

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

He hangs up and MacKenzie immediately calls his office back.

"Does Dr. Habib have any openings tomorrow?" she asks his receptionist.

"We just had a cancellation for 3:00. Do you want it?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

She waits a beat.

"Charlie Skinner."

"OK, you'll need to be here 10 minutes early to fill out some paperwork."

MacKenzie calls Charlie who tells her he can't make it at that time. "My grandson's Christmas play is at 3:00 but I can swing by afterward and try to corner the good doctor."

"Don't worry about it. I'll go."

"You're going to be in town? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't planning on it but one of us needs to find out what's going on with Will."

"You're up for it?"

"Of course. I need to make sure he's okay."

"Are you planning to see him?"

"I don't know. I'll decide after I talk to his doctor."

"Okay. I left Will a message inviting him to Christmas dinner but I haven't heard back from him. If you're staying through the holiday, you're welcome to come, too, you know. Sloan and Don will be there and a few other people from ACN. We'd love to have either one of you. Preferably both."

"Thanks, Charlie. Can I let you know after I talk to Will's doctor?"

"Of course. Good luck, kid."

"Thanks."

She books a flight to New York that will put her near the doctor's office at 1:30. 

**December 21, 2012**

When she arrives in New York, she has just enough time to check into her hotel and get a cab to Dr. Habib's office. Once there, she provides a few bullshit answers on the intake form and dutifully hands it back to the receptionist. Then she waits. On tenterhooks. For Dr. Habib to open the door. This is a man who knows far more about Will's psyche than she does, has probably heard more than his fair share about her, and she's about to face him. What will he think of her? Will he think she's a terrible person for casting Will aside? When he finally opens the door, she looks at him with interest. He's about her age, with dark, curly hair and a relaxed, soothing mien. He smiles warmly at her and welcomes her into his office.

"Ms. Skinner. Just let me read the forms you filled out and I'll be right with you."

She extends her hand. "My name's MacKenzie McHale. Charlie couldn't make it."

His eyes widen in surprise and recognition, and he looks at MacKenzie with undisguised interest. This is the woman who haunts Will McAvoy's dreams? If she no longer cares for him, why had she called yesterday and what's she doing here? Has she changed her mind? What will it mean for Will if she has? _Everything_ , he thinks.

Although he'd love to pick MacKenzie McHale's brain, doctor-client confidentiality and his loyalty to Will preclude it. "I can't discuss Will with you, Ms. Mc - MacKenzie. I'm sorry." Dr. Habib says firmly.

"I understand, but I'm not asking you to betray Will's confidence ... it's just that ... we're worried about him-Charlie and I-and I thought maybe I might be able to fill in some of the blanks. Help you help him if you thought it could ... or would. He won't return our calls, and you're the only one who's seen him. He doesn't have many friends outside work, and since he's not working, I imagine he's isolating himself. Please. I just want to know if there's anything I can do to help him pull out of this tailspin."

He looks at her appraisingly and she gets the distinct impression she's coming up short against whatever scale he's using to weigh her.

"Why do you care?"

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive me for being so blunt; it's just that I understand you told Will you never wanted to see him again, so I'm curious as to your motivation."

"I lo - care about Will," she says, flustered. "No matter what's happened between us, I want him to be happy and well."

Habib is quiet for a moment as he weighs his options. He's worried about Will, too. And for MacKenzie to show up here, all the way from London, offering to shed light on the murky darkness that envelops Will McAvoy's psyche, well, that's hard to pass up.

"What exactly do you want from him?"

"Nothing," she says quickly. "I'm worried about him. I can't stand to think of him being alone, lonely, drinking and depressed."

"You feel sorry for him."

"I suppose, but not ...not ... I just want him to be happy," she says helplessly. "I feel partially-well, completely responsible for what's happened. I left and refused to come back and said horrible things to him and I just want him to be okay. What can I do?"

"I think that depends entirely on what you want from him."

"I don't know."

"I think you do. And if you really want to help him, I need you to be completely honest with yourself. And with me."

She looks at her nails. What does she want from Will? Besides absolution? As Dr. Habib sits there, watching her, she tries to work out her feelings. She's missed Will terribly. Despite what she'd said to him in London, he's her best friend and-outside her family, the person who means the most to her in the world. The reality of not being with him, even if she hasn't really had him for six years, is colder and darker than she'd anticipated-despite having lived through it before. Being without him is a physical ache that nothing seems to dull. She's haunted by the loving things he'd said to her and despite her protestations to the contrary, she wants nothing more than to believe them.

"I know what I want but ... I don't know if it's possible."

She can't help thinking the man sitting before her holds the key to putting her and Will back together. He knows Will, knows his inner thoughts and if he can know hers, perhaps he'll be able to tell her how she can build a bridge back to Will.

"What is it that you want?"

"I miss him. He's my best friend. My partner. My soul mate. As ridiculous as that sounds."

"I wouldn't say ridiculous, but it does sound odd, since you told him you never wanted to see him again."

"I know, but I didn't mean it. I wanted to mean it because I was exhausted and fed up with him trying to hurt me. And maybe on some level I wanted to hurt him as badly as he hurt me. But I never thought it would go this far, that he would quit his job, that he would be so depressed."

"He told you he loved you and wanted to marry you. You didn't think your refusal would hurt him?"

"I didn't think he was sincere."

"Why not?"

"I know what a Will who loves me looks like and ... he didn't look like that when he proposed."

"How did he look?"

"Closed off. Guarded. Angry."

"I can't say anything specifically about Will, but I can tell you generally that anger is a normal reaction to betrayal, especially when we're not in a position to express the pain we feel. Someone who's hurt will throw up barriers to protect themselves and they won't necessarily be as trusting or open as they would have been in the past. It's natural."

"I know, but - he's heaped so many punishments on me over the last three years. He's been so angry with me - so much of what I've felt from him has just been contempt but now ..." MacKenzie trails off.

"Now ...?"

"Now, I just don't know. The biggest part of me wants to believe that he loves instead of loathes me but I don't know if I can. We've both changed so much. He said all the right things when he came to London but he didn't look at all like he used to look when I was sure he loved me and ... I'm not sure I can trust him. Can I trust him? Can I believe him when he says he bought the ring not only to win the argument but because he actually loves me?"

"I can't say one way or the other. You can certainly ask him but ... before you do, I'd caution you to think about what you really want from him."

She sighs, looking down. Mustering her courage, her eyes swing back up at him. She looks at him intently. "So I don't cause further injury, you mean."

"Yes. MacKenzie, I'm treading on thin ice here but ... speaking only in generalities ... when someone confesses something, they're confessing something that happened in the past. It may be the recent past or it may be the distant past. If it happened in the distant past, one can argue that the person who confessed the sin may not be quite the same person as the one who committed it. Tell me. What's Will been like for the last year and a half or so? Has he been better or worse than he was when you first came back?"

"He's been more and more like the old Will. Given to anger more than he used to be, of course, but supportive, loving. More like the man I fell in love with. I felt like we were getting somewhere. We were friends. Partners. I was still in love with him, of course, always hoping he would be able to forgive me, but I absolutely felt we were getting somewhere. Finally."

"His transgressions. When did he commit them?"

"Mainly when I first came back."

"Well, that might be something to think about," he says, then pauses. "I want to make sure I'm understanding you correctly. I'm hearing that you want to believe Will, which leads me to believe that you are open to resuming your romantic relationship with him. Is that correct?"

"I think so. If I can get some assurances that he's sincere and that he's going to find ways to express his anger that don't involve flattening me, then ... yes."

"Okay, but you should understand that even if you do forgive him, forgiveness can't undo the damage caused by his actions. Sometimes the damage can be so great that there's not enough love left in the tank to resume an intimate relationship. Love can be killed. I urge you to think about that before you contact him. And if he does manage to convince you of his sincerity, do you honestly think you still feel enough love for him to want to resume your relationship?"

"Yes,” she says emphatically. “I adore Will. But I'd have to know he was truly sincere about leaving the past behind."

"Fair enough."

They spend the next 30 minutes dancing around the subject of Will. Dr. Habib asks her questions that could be interpreted as unspecific if anyone was recording their conversation, while she gives as much detailed information as she can, desperate to help Will. At the end of the appointment, she stands up and shakes his hand.

"Thank you for seeing me."

"My pleasure. Are you going to call him while you're in town?"

"I already did. I don't think he's going to call me back. Do you know what he's doing for the holiday?"

"He didn't mention anything."

She looks at him thoughtfully.

"If I was to show up at his place unannounced ... how do you think he would react?" she says tentatively. "Do you think he'd tell me to go to hell?"

He weighs his answer.

"It's hard to say. I think it depends on what he thought you wanted from him. If he thinks you're just there to pity him, he's going to be angry. If you let him know from the outset that you're there because you want to find a way to trust him so you can try again, I think his reaction might be very different. It's not my business, but if what you feel is the first thing, I'd advise you not to go. But if what you feel is the second, I'd tell him up front and let him know you expect him to adequately deal with his demons so you can move forward in a way that's beneficial to you both."

_Is she ready to say she forgives him and wants to try again?_

She doesn't know.


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later, MacKenzie is standing at the security desk in Will's building.

"I have a package for Will McAvoy that requires his signature."

The security guard calls Will, who says he's not expecting anything.

MacKenzie produces a box with a waybill from a media production company onto which Charlie has forged Will's name and address. The security guard tells Will the name of the company and Will relents, thinking he must have forgotten that he'd ordered some DVDs.

"Alright, send him up," Will says.

The elevator door opens and when Will sees who's inside, he narrowly avoids dropping the glass of scotch he's nursing.

_What the fuck are you doing here? Did you come here just to torture me?_

"Hello, Will," MacKenzie says softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's good to see you. May I come in?"

Not waiting for an answer, she steps inside.

"Whoever let you up is going to be fired," he says darkly.

"Don't. I had a very convincing waybill in my possession. And this box," she says, attempting to set it down ... somewhere ... but the place is a disaster. Dirty dishes cover every surface.

“I see you've given up your cleaning service," she says, looking around.

"Trying to economize."

"You'd be better off putting some of your booze money into the cleaning pot," she says, lifting a half-full glass of scotch and setting it down again.

Unable to find a clear surface, she sets the parcel on the floor and heads for the closet in the entryway. She shrugs off her winter coat, hangs it in the closet and toes her boots off before turning to face him. He can't help noticing she's wearing the cashmere socks he'd put in her office stocking last Christmas but all the goodwill that existed between them before election night has vanished and now they're the same two people who met the day she brought Jim in.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. McHale?"

"So formal," she says, waving her hand. "Call me Mac. Or Kenz, if you like." She stares at him with concern. He's lost so much weight. He's rumpled and unshaven, wearing a University of Nebraska sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. His hair is long and stringy and her heart aches when she sees the haunted look in his eyes.

"Why are you here, _Mac_?"

"Why is anyone anywhere?" she says breezily. "I happened to be in town and I've been worried about you, so I thought I'd stop by. You haven't returned my calls - "

"I figured they were drunk dials. You never wanted to me see again, remember?"

She hesitates. And feels the false cheer slipping from her face like a mask. "I didn't mean that," she says slowly, looking at him intently. "I shouldn't have said it."

 _What the hell does that mean?_   She's staring at him with an expression he doesn't recognize but he's in no mood to try to interpret it. And he'll be damned if he's going to _ask._ He's not putting himself out there again. If she's changed her mind it's up to her to say so. But she doesn't, which infuriates him even more.

"You shouldn't have come," he says, his eyes cold and blue. "Please leave."

She ignores him. "You haven't returned Charlie's calls, either. You've cut yourself off from everyone who cares about you - "

"I think there's only one person on that list and you just named him. I'll call him after you leave, so consider us not cut off. I'm fine. You can go now."

She takes a step toward him. "You're not fine, Billy," she says gently. "You're not fine."

It's the tone of her voice, so soothing, so loving, that makes him want to weep.

"And you don't really give a shit, so stop pretending you do."

"I _do_ give a shit. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"I don't need your pity, MacKenzie," he retorts. "Get the hell out of my apartment before I call security and have you escorted out."

"No. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"You got rid of me first, so you've got a lot of nerve."

"I told you. I didn't mean it."

_Why does she keep saying that? And why isn't she telling me what she did mean, then?_

She swallows hard and looks at her watch. "It's nearly five o'clock. Why don't you go have a shower, shave, put on some clean clothes and I'll take you to dinner? Wherever you like."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, you can watch me eat, then. I'm starved." He doesn't move. "Come on, Billy. It's no good for you to stay cooped up in this cave. There's no telling what diseases you might contract here. Or what vermin might be roaming around."

"It suits me just fine. Please go."

"Well, how about if we order in? I'll make some room by shoving those dishes onto the floor," she says, gesturing to the dining table.

"Don't. Just ... don't. Please go."

"And leave you to marinate in your despair? I don't think so."

" _I don't need your pity_ ," he says through gritted teeth.

"It's not pity, Billy. Alarm, maybe, but definitely not pity."

"Thank you for coming by, but I'd rather be alone."

"Why are you pushing me away?"

"You _told_ me - "

"Yes. And I just told you I didn't mean it!"

"Why are you here, Mac? You're no longer my executive producer, you're no longer my girlfriend, you're certainly not my wife, so why the fuck do you care?"

"Am I not your friend?"

He snorts. "No. You're not my friend."

He feels shitty saying that, especially when he sees her wince, but they are not friends. They haven't been for a long time. Not since before they started dating. They've always been far more than friends and when that was gone, they never knew quite what to do with the leftover feelings. Feelings that made dialling it back to mere friends impossible. They could pretend at being friends, they could mimic the things friends might say to one another, but they could never truly be friends because what each of them wanted (well, what he wanted, anyway) was to be so much more.

"We were though, right?" she says, haltingly. "Friends? Just a couple of months ago? We were getting there, weren't we?"

 _What kind of game is she playing at, pretending what happened in London didn't happen, pretending they could ever just be 'friends'?_ He shakes his head, unable to speak. He doesn't know why she's here, why she's suddenly reappeared. She doesn't want him, so she can just get the hell out of his life. What's left of it.

"We're not friends," he repeats. "We're ex-colleagues and ex-lovers. Emphasis on the 'ex.' Which is why you need to leave."

"I can't. Not until I know you're okay. What's your plan, Will?" she's saying, needling him.

Always with the incessant needling.

"What are you going do with the rest of your life?"

He doesn't know and he doesn't want to think about it. Hence the drinking.

He doesn't answer.

"How long are you going to wallow?" she says gently, taking another step toward him. "Where will you be when you decide to stop? Where will your _liver_ be when you decide to stop? No good can come from this, so before you decide to continue down this road, take a good look at where you're going to end up. It's not going to be a good place."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not your problem."

"I hate to break it to you, Will, but you _are_ my problem. As long as I'm breathing, you _are_."

That does it. He is not going to take her bullshit. How dare she show up just to pity him, to make him feel even more embarrassed and ashamed than he already does, to add to the already mountain-sized heap of embarrassment and shame he feels at her complete and utter rejection of his affections?

"Stop pretending you give a shit, MacKenzie! When I was in London you made it perfectly clear how you feel about me."

"I made it perfectly clear how I felt about your ruse. About the ring. And then I made the mistake of thinking I felt that way about every other aspect of our relationship. I was exhausted and angry and hurt and confused and ... I didn't mean it."

She doesn't say anything more, which makes him even more furious. She keeps dropping hints that maybe she's changed her mind but she won't say it, so what's he supposed to think?

"It sure as hell sounded like you meant it, so you might want to take a look at your own road," he says, turning around and heading for the bedroom. "Go home, Mac. You can see yourself out. Thanks for your concern." He closes the door behind him.

She's been dismissed but she's not leaving because it's worse than she thought. She has to get through to him. She's not sure how but there's one thing she can do. She can start whipping this place back into shape. She starts with the dishes after laying her iPhone on the counter and playing some music. She chooses her most upbeat playlist - anything to stave off the darkness that's fast approaching inside and outside the apartment.

She's just wiping down the counter when Will walks into the kitchen, dressed in a fresh shirt and jeans, shaven, with his hair wet from the shower.

"You're still here. Why?" he asks.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

She finds the paper recycling bin under the sink, still full of papers, and shoves it toward him. She does the same with the bin for plastics. "Please go empty these. You can take out the garbage when you come back," she says, pointing towards the overflowing bin in the corner of the kitchen.

"Thanks for cleaning up, but I want you to leave."

She shakes her head, grabs an empty box from the floor and motions towards the bins again. "The recycling, Will. I need you to empty those so there's a place to put all the papers on the tables."

She starts moving from table to table, shoving weeks' worth of newspapers into the box, stopping only when she feels his hand on her arm. He doesn't grab it firmly, just gently, gently presses his fingers into her flesh. He's so close she can smell his soap. She's missed him so damned much she wants to drop her box of newspapers, throw her arms around him and never let him go. She knows he's about to try to kick her out, so she decides to do exactly that, to knock him off balance.

He stiffens when he feels her arms around him, just stands there woodenly. She buries her face in his neck and whispers, "I'm not leaving, Will." Suddenly she finds herself being thrust back so hard she teeters precariously on her feet and it's only Will extending an arm that saves her. The look on his face is murderous.

"What the fuck do you think you're _doing_ , MacKenzie? Are you _trying_ to destroy me?"

"I'm not," she gulps. "I'm worried about you - and I want you to know you're not alone."

"Fuck you and your false friendship, Mac. I _am_ alone." He walks towards something low and dark in the corner and when he finally makes it there, she's annoyed to discover it's a coffee table covered with even more dirty dishes. _Damn! How did I miss that table?_ She doesn't have time to think though, because in one smooth motion he's shoved the dishes onto the floor. Glass explodes at his feet and she rolls her eyes. He's obviously forgotten he's barefoot.

She grabs a pair of shoes she tripped over 45 minutes ago and flings them in his direction. He ducks and then she turns around, grabs a dustbin and broom and throws them toward him for good measure. Then she stalks into the bedroom and slams the door behind her. She considers locking it but she's not afraid of him and she won't give him the satisfaction of thinking that she is. She won't leave. She won't. He needs her. She brutally hurt him when he came to London but she won't make that mistake again. And despite everything, she can't help thinking they're making some progress. Towards what, she doesn't know. They'll make zero progress if she leaves.

On some level, she knows she's being unfair to Will, to just pop up in his life after telling him she never wanted to see him again, but she's operating purely on instinct. She doesn't know what she wants (well, actually, she knows perfectly well what she wants; she just doesn't know how to say it, especially when he's still so obviously furious with her); she just knows he's in trouble and she can't leave him.

She busies herself throwing dirty laundry into the laundry hamper and ripping the dirty sheets off the bed. She's got three corners of a fresh bottom sheet down on the mattress and is about to smooth over the fourth when she hears the doorknob turn. She continues her work, deftly smoothing the sheet over the corner of the mattress as she hears footsteps padding slowly toward her. Without turning around, she picks up one of the pillows from the bed and a clean pillowcase from the bedside table, then turns around and throws them at him. He catches them reflexively. She picks up the other one and starts to work and puts it on the bed. When she steals a glance at him, she can tell he's doing the same.

"Where are your clean blankets?" she says, hands on hips before taking one hand off to wipe the sweat from her forehead. He walks behind her, brushing against her as he heads to the closet and pulls down a fluffy white comforter. He throws her half to her and smooths down his.

That done, she decides to start on the bathroom. She starts walking toward it but he grabs her arm, more firmly this time, and turns her around to face him.

"Thank you for cleaning up, but I'll say it again. I want you to leave. Now."

"No."

"This is _my_ apartment. I get to say who comes in. And I don't want you here."

"Too bad. I'm not leaving."

"That wasn't a request. It was an _order_!" he roars, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

"Spare me the theatrics, Billy. I'm used to your tantrums, so they're not going to work on me."

"What _will_ work, then?"

"Acting like a human being."

"Fine. If you won't leave, I will."

"Go ahead, but I'll be here when you get back."

He turns around to face her. His eyes are so sad, so defeated, that tears immediately spring to her own eyes in response.

"You're being cruel, MacKenzie," he says, deflated. "You're being really fucking cruel. And I don't know why. Isn't it enough that you told me you never wanted to see me again?"

"How many times do I have to say it, Will? I didn't mean it!"

"Why the hell did you say it, then?" he says angrily.

"Because I wanted to mean it. Because I was exhausted and I couldn't face another God-knows-how-many-years of your punishments. Because I was tired of being hurt."

" _Why are you here?_ "

"Because I miss you ..." she says helplessly. She knows what she wants. She thinks she knows what _he_ wants. Why is this so damned difficult?

"What are you saying? Have you changed your mind?"

"I don't know yet," she says slowly, unwilling to put herself out there just yet if he's going to shut her down. If he's going to condemn her to another 40 years of punishments. If he's not sincere.

"Then get out," he says flatly. "I'm not going to put up with your bullshit if you're just going to tell me to fuck off."

_Oh, Will._

"If you ever cared about me at all, you will leave, okay?" he says. "I'm not saying that to spite you, I'm not saying that to hurt you. I'm saying it because it kills me to see you, MacKenzie. It _kills_ me. It makes me want to jump out the fucking window. Surely you can understand that."

 _I've hurt you so badly_ , she thinks. "I'm so sorry for everything," she chokes out, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't a give a damn if you're sorry. Or that you're worried about me. Or that maybe you'd be sorry if I threw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge. _I. don't. want. to. hear. it._ There's only one thing I want to hear from you and anything else that comes out of your mouth- _including 'hello'_ -makes me want to slit my fucking wrists."

"Tell me what you want me to say, then," MacKenzie says, suddenly angry. "Tell me."

"Fine, I'll tell you. But only because I don't want to hear any more of your empty goddamned platitudes. You ready?" Will says acidly.

"Oh, I'm ready."

"Here it is, then. The _one_ thing you can say to me." He swallows hard and tries to ignore the fact that he's about to humiliate himself yet again. Who gives a shit anyway? "'I love you,'" he says, his voice cracking. "I want to be your wife.' Or, if you can't say that, I'll take 'I'm not ready to be your wife yet but I can see a path to getting there and I want to get there.' That's it." Will says. "That's the sum total of what I want to hear from you. You say anything else to me and you might as well be taking a knife to my _fucking soul_."

She doesn't immediately respond, just stares at him with those big doe eyes that make him want to do far more than he's allowed to do at this moment or will ever be allowed to do again. What the fuck is she doing in his life anyway when she has made it so very clear she wants nothing to do with him except to make sure he's on this side of the grass?

He looks at her, simultaneously furious and overwhelmed with certainty that the next thing out of her mouth is going to break what little is left of his heart. He tries to ignore the fact that she's so close he could reach out and pull her against him. He closes his eyes, unable to tolerate having her so close to him without having her in his arms, so he stands there woodenly, with his eyes closed and fists clenched.

"Look at me, Will." He shakes his head. "Look at me." He doesn't respond, so she puts her arms around his neck. His eyes snap open and quick as a flash his arms dart out and then he's crushing her against him.


	9. Chapter 9

"You are playing with _fire_ , MacKenzie," he says, his voice dripping with venom. His face is so close to hers she can feel his breath on her lips. "Do you know that?"

"Yes, I _do_ know that," she whispers, looking up at him.

"Then why are you pushing me?"

"Because I need to see your eyes."

"My _eyes_?" he says, staring down at her. "Here they are."

MacKenzie stares into them. They are so, so blue, and no matter what, no matter what's happened before or will happen, they are the eyes of the man she loves. But she sees no love there-not for her-and it makes her want to cry. Until she considers the possibility of what Dr. Habib suggested, that the love is still in there, just papered over.

"Satisfied?" he says.

She reaches up and cups his cheek with her hand and he fights the urge to lean into it.

"No," she says.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still not seeing it."

"What?"

"The love."

"Christ. Are we back to that again? You think I said 'I love you' just to fuck with you?"

"I want to believe you, Will. I do," she says slowly. "But you're so angry with me. You have been for years. When we were together before, I never doubted you loved me because I could see it in your eyes. But there's no love there now. All I can see and all I can feel is your anger. So, forgive me if I have a hard time believing you when you say you love me now."

"Did you just say you want to believe me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She doesn't trust herself to speak. She just wants to cut through the bullshit and try to excavate what's left between them. To bring it all into the light, to see if enough of their love remains to sustain them for the rest of their lives, so she decides to try a different tack. Her arms are still around his neck and she slowly threads her fingers through his hair. Then she stands on tiptoe and leans her head in to kiss his neck just below his ear.

"What are you _doing_?" he says angrily.

"Shhhh," she murmurs. She gently takes his earlobe between her teeth, sucking it. He gasps as she starts to dot his neck with kisses. He tries to thrust her away from him but she clings to him and he allows her to bury her face in his neck. He's breathing heavily and suddenly she pulls back to look at him, stands on tiptoe and pulls his head down to press her lips against his.

Instantly, she feels herself being hoisted into the air and she clings to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, thinking he must be about to shove her into the elevator but he's heading for the bedroom instead.

 _You want to play with fire, MacKenzie?_ he thinks _. I'll show you fire. Just how far do you want to take this? Because I will take it ALL the fucking way._

He unceremoniously dumps her on the bed so she's half-reclining, half splayed out in front of him and he nudges her thighs apart with his knees. He hovers over her, eyes glittering, challenging her to say something, but she doesn't. She just licks her lips and stares at him hungrily.

 _Good_ , she thinks. _Good. Let's do this_.

She reaches out a hand to stroke his cheek and he turns his head to kiss her palm. He turns his head to study her face, checking for opposition, and when he sees none, starts unbuttoning her shirt. Her breathing quickens and she gazes at him intently, waiting to see how far he's willing to go. She hopes he's prepared to take it all the way because she wants this. She _needs_ this. She needs to connect with him on the most primal level.

Then maybe they can have an honest conversation.

"Do you have birth control?" she asks him.

"Yes," he says, as she leans forward so he can gently pull the shirt off her shoulder. "But we're not using it."

He tugs the shirt down her arm and she can't help smirking as she raises her eyebrows at him. "No?"

"No," he says seriously, drawing the shirt across her back and pulling it down her other arm. He flings it to the floor and they sit there, staring at each other. "You decide _now,"_ he says. "You're either in or you're out. If you're in, we move forward together. And if you still don't know, I want you to leave." He speaks harshly but almost immediately, his body betrays his words. She is so beautiful and he wants her so badly, he wants _this_  so badly that all of a sudden he's no longer in control of himself: a force external to his own will compels him to lean down and capture her lips with his own. He kisses her so thoroughly, so tenderly, so sweetly, that all she can do is passionately return his kiss and think,  _I love you, you idiotic, belligerent ass. I love you_.

He rallies and forces himself to pull back. This is too important. He needs to focus. "I'm not going to make love to you only to have you tell me later that you don't want this," he says. "Or that I'm not good enough. I'm not opening myself up to that crap." 

_Oh, Will._

Gathering his wits about him, his hands move to the clasp on the front of her bra. His fingers trace the lines of the clasp, trying to make out how it works and when he discovers the trick of it, he undoes the clasp, then uses his thumb and index finger to hold the two pieces of fabric together so her breasts don't spill out of the cups. He pauses, then swings his eyes up to hers. "Tell me what you want, MacKenzie." As he speaks, he uses his free hand to trace the skin above her breasts with his fingers, the tenderness of his touch once more belying the harshness of his words.

She puts her hand over his, the one still resting on her chest and slowly, lazily, traces her fingers over the back of it and the deliberateness of her touch makes every nerve ending on the back of his hand come alive.

"You've been a complete jackass since I arrived, so I'd be hard-pressed to tell you _what_ I want," she says softly, trailing her fingers up his forearm. Her journey comes to an end at his elbow, which she grips for leverage as she unexpectedly sits up. He topples over onto his back and within seconds she's astride him and undoing the buttons on his shirt. He lets her because he's paralyzed by the sight of her beautiful breasts, now swinging freely above him, and the knowledge that any second now the hands that are undoing his buttons are going to be on his bare skin. As the last button comes free, she lays her hand on his chest, gently sliding it across one nipple. Then she pulls back the other shirt panel, leans down and trails her lips (and her bare breasts) across his chest. All he can do is groan.

_Fuck._

He struggles to speak. Finally, he manages to get the words out as she peppers his chest with delicate kisses. "First you tell me you never want to see me again, then you barge into my apartment, then you _kiss_ me, then you tell me you don't know what you want, but _I'm_ the jackass?"

"Well, when you put it _that_ way, we can go halvsies. We're both jackasses," she says, kissing her way down his stomach towards his belt buckle. Then she raises her head to look up at him. "But if having your anger constantly on display is any indication of what my future holds if we get back together, I'm in for a pretty shitty life," she says, kissing him between words. "Show me the man I fell in love with and then we'll talk."

Her hands move to his belt buckle but he places his own on top of them, stilling her fingers. "You think I can trot him out just like that? The man you fell in love with got shit on and betrayed by the woman he loved. How do I know I can trust you?"

Sighing, she places her hands on his and gently moves them aside so she can resume her work. He lets her because once again, he's paralyzed by her proximity and quite frankly, he wants this. "That's the crux of it, isn't it?" she says. "You don't trust me. You still don't." She undoes the belt buckle and starts working on the button on his pants.

"I _did_ trust you," he says, as she tugs his zipper down. "Right up until the moment you threw me out of your life in London. Why should I trust you now? You still don't know what you want."

Involuntarily, he lifts his hips so she can tug his pants down.

"I _do_ know what I want, Will," she says, scooting back so she can slide his pants down each leg and fling them on the floor. She leans back down and begins to delicately tug the waistband of his boxers down. "I want _you_. Minus the anger. Minus the punishments. Can you give me that?"

He puts his hands on hers, stilling them. He's breathing heavily now, and he's not going to be able to control himself much longer.

"Yes," he says with certainty. He's not going to hurt her again. He's through with that. He's going to work with Habib to make sure he doesn't.

"How do you know?"

"Habib's been teaching me a few things about myself, giving me a few tricks to beat back the urge to lash out when it comes on."

"You think it's enough?" she says, accepting the halt he's put to her hands, but unable to resist kissing the hot, smooth skin on his abdomen, making him squirm.

"I think so. He says I have to force myself to stop and think. Which I've done a couple times since you got here, so I think maybe he's on to something. And if you do decide you're in, I think maybe we should think about couples counselling so we can learn how to argue."

"Does the good doctor have any other tricks up his sleeve? Something that would have prevented you from spewing all the _other_ bullshit that cameout of your mouth this afternoon?"

"We just started, but I'll ask him, okay? I'll give him a list of the things I said today and see what he says. I promise."

" _I'll_  make the list."

"Fine."

She raises her head to look at him. "One last thing, I need you to be completely honest with me, Billy. As honest as you have ever been."

"What?"

"Do you love me? Do you really love me?" She says it seriously, earnestly, with all the weight of the world in her words.

"Yes."

"You're not just saying that to fuck with me?"

"No."

"Then why can't I see it in your eyes?"

"How the fuck would I know? I don't know what I look like either way."

"I'll show you."

She gives him one last kiss on the abdomen, rolls over his legs, puts her feet on the floor and slides her bra off her shoulders before casting it on the floor. He watches, mesmerized, as her glorious ass carries her out of the room. She heads back to the living room where she gets her purse, opens her wallet and takes out a picture she's carried with her for years (she'd cried over it countless nights in Afghanistan). She's stared at it so many times, cried over it so many times, that she's memorized it by heart. It's a picture of the two of them, taken shortly before they broke up. They'd been visiting her parents and the whole family had been sitting in the back garden. She was in Will's lap and she'd been laughing at something someone said out of view of the camera, and Will was staring at her. He had a sappy, goofy grin on his face and the look on his face was pure adoration - as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

She carries it back to the bed, smirking at Will's apparent inability to keep his jaw hinged shut at the sight of her. She thrusts the picture at him.

He wrenches his eyes from her chest and studies the picture. Memories of that day wash over him. He'd been so in love with her then. Completely, head-over-heels in love with her. What he feels for her now is a little more banged up and dented, but it's essentially still the same. She has been to him, at one time or the other, the whole world. He closes his eyes and exhales softly, trying to exhale the anger and the frustration he's currently feeling over their fucked-up situation. He tries to put himself back in the mental space he'd enjoyed then, but how can he, when so much has happened, when so much has pain has been imprinted on his heart? He opens his eyes and looks at her.

"Don't you think it's a little unfair to hold me to this standard now? I was innocent then. Shit happened and it's taken its toll. How about if I show you what I feel for you today and how about if you don't judge me against what I looked like then?"

"What should I judge you against, then?"

"What's in your heart, maybe. What you know to be true."

She supposes that's fair. "Show me, then," she says.

"Not so fast. What's the penalty for failure? Are you going to cast me out?"

"No. You're so calcified at this point, it would be cruel of me not to factor that in. How about this? I'll give you ten chances. And if you need more, we'll talk."

"So, you _have_ changed your mind."

"Not quite, Billy. I'd say I'm ... 85% there. I just need a little more proof of your devotion."

He rolls his eyes, closes them and thinks of their old life together: the sparring, the jokes, the drinks, the arguments, the lovemaking, the showering together, the wearing of those stupid socks, the tiny commonplace. He thinks about the recent past, days spent arguing over the rundown, doing their show, how much he wanted her still, even though he couldn't have her. He thinks about what their future together might look like: evenings with children in that house in the suburbs. He thinks about the glow that has always surrounded her, the one that makes her stand out in any room. He thinks about the most precious gift she ever gave him, the constant, close proximity to something unmistakably outside and beyond himself, _resistant_ \- something real. They say affection is nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives, and he never had more of it than when he was with her.

He thinks of how wonderful it is to be close to her, even now, even when they are emotionally so far apart, though they're much less so now than they've been in some time. And as he thinks these things, he feels a little bit of the anger drain away, a little bit of the frustration. And in its wake is what he feels for her. Not about what she did, though that can hardly be separated. He _wants_ her. Purely, plainly, simply. And maybe that's the most important thing. The thing that will allow him to rise above the rest of the crap once and for all. Besides, she's here and that 85% has to mean she wants him, too.

When he opens them, she sees they're soft and a little moist. "MacKenzie," he says, "I don't know what to say, or how I can prove it to you, but I love you. It's not complicated, or it doesn't have to be. We have a lot of crap to work through but I want to stop living in the past. I just want to love you and be loved by you. That's all. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it work. _Whatever_ it takes. Even if I don't look like I once did, can't that be enough for now?"

She can see he's exhausted and still more sad and depressed than she'd like, but she can also see that he's sincere.

She gives him a watery smile and bends down to press her lips against his.

"Yes, Billy. It's enough," she tells him.

He looks at her guardedly.

"Really?"

"Really," she says seriously.

"So, we're going to do this?"

"Yes."

"What's it going to look like? The logistics?"

"Can we talk about that later? I just want to _be_ with you, Will. Let me love you. Because I do. So much."

 _She loves him. She_ loves _him. He can't believe it._

"Okay," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "What about birth control?"

"You decreed we're not using it."

"Do you want to?"

"No. The rational voice in my head has been silenced by the knowledge that we're not getting any younger and the fact that I want to feel you in me bare."

The mere mention of being inside her makes his cock jerk, which she doesn't fail to notice since she's staring at his crotch. She trails her eyes up and down the rest of his body. He's absolutely as gorgeous as she remembers and God, she wants him. She leans forward and tugs his boxers down his hips and his cock springs forward, long and thick and hard and Christ does she remember what it felt like inside her.

She can't resist taking it into her mouth and he groans. "No, honey, no, I won't last. Please."

"Okay," she says reluctantly, allowing it to slip out of her mouth, but not before making him gasp as she swirls her tongue around the tip.

"Jesus," he says breathlessly. In a few minutes, he's going to be inside her again. He can't fucking believe it. He's going to bury himself inside her and watch her face contort with ecstasy when she comes. He's fantasized about this moment for years, and now it's here.

But first, he has to taste her beautiful breasts. Although he's already hard, the sight of them, as round and full as he remembers- with their elongated nipples and deep pink aureoles-makes him that much harder. "Come up here," he says, and she does, straddling him. "God, Mac, you are even more beautiful than I remember. You're perfect. Absolutely perfect," he says. She grinds herself against him as he lifts his head to take an exposed nipple in his mouth and her head drops down, as she emits a low moan. He lets the nipple pop out of his mouth and the sensation of the cool evening air against it makes her shiver. Then his mouth is on her other nipple and he's caressing her hot, smooth skin and she's raking her fingers down his shoulders and suddenly he flips them over so he's on top. The weight of his body, so long remembered, so long missed, brings one word to her mind, over and over again:

_Yes, yes, yes._

He diligently works to get her pants undone and down her legs and finally, all that remains of her clothing is the sexiest little pair of panties he's seen in years (her lingerie fetish rivals only his own). It takes but a moment for him to get those off and suddenly, they're both naked. It feels good - cleansing and solid - to have nothing between them, like a layer of debris has been washed away.

He caresses her cheek with one hand as he stares into her eyes.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too, Billy."

They spend a long time kissing, lazily reacquainting themselves with one another. Her mouth and tongue taste like warm honey and it isn't long before every synapse in his brain shorts out. His heart keeps missing beats and his hands can't bring her close enough and he can feel every place where their lips meet and then pull apart. It's simply _marvelous_ to kiss her again and everything in his world is suddenly right again. And alight. With her. All she can think is how intensely, intensely _good_ it is to kiss him. It's a long, sweet slide into mindlessness, where all she can feel is Will, all she can hear is his breathing, and all she can think is _"_ Oh my God, I want to do thisfor the rest of my life _."_

At some point, she needs more, so she starts grinding her hips against him and pulling his ass down against her.

She gasps when he drags his cock against her clit and instinctively, involuntarily, spreads her legs and silently implores him to claim her. She's desperate to feel him inside her. The man making love to her is the man she fell in love with and she can hardly dare to believe she has him back again. She decides she can tolerate the angry one when he pops up, so long as it's not too often; she'll just have to have faith in his commitment to her, to their future together, and his commitment to keep working at it.

As he stares into her eyes, she sees that his pupils are blown wide with love and lust and _finally, finally_ , she believes.

He _does_ love her. As much as he ever did.

Suffused with joy, she kisses him desperately as he takes his cock in hand and begins to press into her. She hasn't been with anyone since Wade so she doesn't yield immediately but finally, finally, all resistance gives way and Will is sheathed fully inside her. He starts to move and she is so full of joy, this moment is so perfect, she wishes it would last forever. Her walls are so slick and so hot that he almost comes right there but manages to hold back. He uses long strokes, bringing the pleasure slowly, building it. He tries to hold his own orgasm, trying to bring hers first, listening to her panting, waiting for the tense moment that will precede it. He starts going faster. She tightens around him and her muscles contract so powerfully around his cock that he has to force his way back into her body with every stroke. He throws his head back, teeth clenching, trying to hold on, the tightness making it so hard, so hard to hold on, to wait. Then he feels it, feels her muscles pushing down on the head of his stroking cock, feels her body go still and he jabs into her, and she starts to cry out and it becomes a full-on scream as she comes, gasping into his mouth.

"I love you, I love you, oh God, I love you, Billy. So much. So much."

That's all it takes to send him careering towards the edge.

He thrusts faster, pulling out and pushing in until he jams himself into her hard and cries her name, telling her over and over again how much he loves her. He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he continues to jab into her, shoving each spurt of his come into her again and again, grunting, his body tense, then relaxing with each small thrust. Her body shakes with his movement and the post-orgasmic tremors that are still surging through her own body.

He collapses on top of her and starts to roll off her, worried that he's too heavy, but she wraps her legs around him, arresting his movement.

"Not yet, honey, not yet," she tells him. "Stay inside me. You feel so good."

He lifts his head to look at her and he's so full of happiness he can't help giving her a goofy, loopy smile, which she blissfully returns.

"That was perfect," she says, floating on a high she hasn't felt in years. "Absolutely perfect."

"It was," he agrees, equally high. "It was."

"It's a good place to begin, I think," she says, stroking his hair.

 


	10. Chapter 10

They both know they should have had the conversation they're about to have before getting into bed together, but in some ways, MacKenzie was right to push it in this direction: although their plans for the future remain short on details, they succeeded in communicating what was somehow so hard to articulate in words. Their physical reunion has had the desired effect: all acrimony is gone, all hurt feelings are gone, and they're just two people as madly in love with each other as they ever were. Both sure of each other's affections, they're free to discuss the hard parts, secure that neither one is going to leave, that each of them is in this for the long haul.

She's lying in his arms, utterly peaceful and utterly content. Sex with Will feels like taking huge gulps of fresh air: essential to her health, her body, and her life.

"So ... you _did_ change your mind," he murmurs, kissing her shoulder.

She shivers, marveling at how easy it is to slip back into this, at how absolutely perfect it is to be back in his arms.

"I did," she says dreamily.

"Why?"

"Because you love me. You really do."

"Why do you believe that now when you didn't before?"

"Well, you finally gave me that look. The one I hadn't seen in six years."

"When?"

"A little while ago. After all the kissing and right before the main event."

"Huh," he says. "That's the look? That's good to know. For future reference. "

"So you can trot it out in the middle of an argument?"

"Something like that."

"I'll know if you're insincere."

"You hope."

She playfully swats him on the shoulder. "Do you remember what you were thinking at that moment?"

"Yep."

"What?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"No," she says, swatting him again. "Just curious."

He kisses her and says, "I think it was something like, 'This is happening. It's not a dream, I'm here, I'm looking at you and you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Billy," she says softly, kissing him. "That's one of the sweetest things you've ever said to me."  
  
"Out loud, maybe. I've thought it about a thousand times."

"And yet _it. never. reached. your. eyes,_ " she chides him, punctuating each word with a kiss.

He pulls her closer, kissing the top of her head. "Sorry. You gonna tell me what made you change your mind? You must have been thinking about it before you got here."

"Actually ..." she says, turning on her side to face him and propping herself up on one elbow. "It was something Harriet said ..." She reaches out to caress his chest and then leans over to kiss it, making him sigh with pleasure. _That won't hold_ , she thinks. _Oh well, I have to tell him sometime, and they say a sane man is at his sanest after orgasm, so there is_ that ... "... that Dr. Habib confirmed."

"You talked to Habib?" he says quickly, jerking his head up. "When?" he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Yesterday," she says, playing with the hair on his chest. "And this afternoon." She can feel the tension starting to build, so she works to allay his fears. "He didn't betray your trust, Will," she says. "He wouldn't - he's very ... _loyal._ Charlie and I were worried about you. You weren't returning Charlie's calls so I wanted to see if you'd been keeping your appointments. I kept imagining you unconscious or worse on your bathroom floor. I was desperate to make sure you were alright."

 _She went behind my back to talk to Habib? What else is she doing behind my back? Do_ not _go there. Stop and think. Stop and think. Stop and_  think:  _she just told me she and Charlie were worried. Okay, okay, okay. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Okay, okay. I was avoiding their calls, so maybe it was understandable._

He relaxes a bit. A  _tiny_  bit.

"And what did Habib say?" he asks, still trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Knowing full well what he's thinking, she keeps her tone casual as she recaps her telephone conversation with Dr. Habib. "I asked him a couple of questions ... but he made it quite clear he wasn't going to talk to me about you, so after we hung up I called his office back to see if he had any appointments today. They had a cancellation, so I gave them Charlie's name, but Charlie couldn't make it, so I came instead."

"Why?" he asks, his voice tight.

She props herself on one elbow again to look down into his face. "I wanted to find out what we could do to help you. I think he was shocked when I turned up. I knew he wasn't going to talk to me about you, so I asked him if I could talk about me in relation to you. To help him help you if he thought it would ... or could. He obviously cares about you a great deal, Will."

 _Well ... he supposes that's_ somewhat _nice to hear ... if a little fucking weird._

"And what did you tell him?" he asks evenly.

_Hey, maybe I'm getting the hang of this._

"I told him the reason I'd been so awful in London was that I was convinced you hated me and one of the reasons was that you didn't look at me the way you used to. He wouldn't talk about you, specifically, but he said people who have been hurt are naturally a lot more guarded - a lot more circumspect - with their feelings, which is what Harriet told me after you came to see me. She said I was too sleep-deprived, hurt and angry to see it but she was convinced you were sincere. She suggested maybe you weren't quite the same person now as you were when you bought the ring ... that maybe you'd grown up a bit. Would you have bought the ring now? If we'd been doing opposition research now?"

He thinks about it. He knows what she wants to hear but he owes her the truth.

"I don't know but ... I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't have wanted to hurt you. Back then, I was just trying to win. I deliberately didn't consider your feelings."

"Did you want to hurt me when you told me about it on election night?"

"No. It was incredibly insensitive and boneheaded of me but I was just trying to be honest. It didn't even occur to me that you _would_ be hurt until I saw your face. I'm sorry. And then it occurred to me that maybe that was the same reason you told me about your thing with that ... that ...  _asshole_ ; not because you secretly wanted to break up with me but because you were trying to be honest."

She's silent for a moment as she considers what he said. "Okay."

"Okay? What does that mean?"

"I can accept that." She yawns. "Mind if we table this conversation 'til tomorrow?"

"Why?" he says, kissing her neck.

"I'm starving, I'm on London time and what you just did to me completely robbed me of the ability to think."

"I'll make you some food, then you can sleep. Eggs and toast okay?"

"Yes, thank you. Hurry back, though, okay?"

He's back in ten minutes with a huge plate of scrambled eggs and sourdough toast on a wooden breakfast tray.

Her eyes are closed, so he sets the tray down and kisses her on the forehead. "Wake up, honey," he says. "If you don't eat now, you're going to wake up even hungrier in the middle of the night."

"Okay," she agrees, sitting up and wolfing them down. "I have missed your eggs, Will. Aren't you having any?"

"I had a sandwich while I was making these," he says.

She looks at him thoughtfully.

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

"If we'd have made love when I first came back, do you think we could have saved ourselves the heartache of the last three years?"

"I don't know. I was still pretty angry. Maybe. Sex does have a way of clearing away the crap, though. For us, anyway."

"I can't tell you how many times I almost threw myself at you."

"I wish you had."

"You wouldn't have turned me down?"

"I might have ... _hesitated_ ... but turn you down completely? I doubt it. Come on, you're gorgeous and I'm in love with you. Not sure what would have happened after, though."

"But if this was inside you all along, why didn't you let me see it?"

"What's 'this'?"

"Sweet, loving, caring, non-angry Will. The man I fell in love with. I thought I'd lost you forever - or maybe that I'd imagined you - but you were right here all along. If you were in there the whole time, what could I have done to bust you out?"

"I don't know. I was so angry. I'm not sure there's anything you could have done. It had to come from me."

"If you still loved me as much as you ever did, why did it take you so long to get here?"

"I couldn't get past the cheating. I knew I could trust you professionally, but personally - with my heart, I didn't feel I could. I wanted to, though. I really did."

"You trust me now?"

"Yes."

"Why now when you didn't feel you could before?"

"Because you've spent the last three years proving I can. It just took me a while to see it. And I don't want to live in the past anymore. I want to live in the present and just be happy. You make me happy, MacKenzie. You make me blissfully happy," he says, bending down to kiss her again. "What just happened - making love to you - that's the happiest I've been in six years."

"Why were you so angry when I showed up tonight?"

"Because I thought the only reason you did was because you pitied me and it hurt to see you."

"You're not angry anymore, are you?" she asks.

"No."

"What are you?"

"In love with you."

"Me, too. So ... we're really going to do this, right?"

"Yeah. Whatever it takes," he says. "But we need to talk about the logistics. Do you have a job yet?"

"I have a couple of offers. In London. I have until January 3 to decide."

"What are they?"

"One's a morning news show and the other's an afternoon talk show."

"Do you want either one? Or one more than the other?"

"Not particularly. I was lukewarm until yesterday and now I'm vehemently opposed to both unless you want to move to England."

He kisses her shoulder. "I'd move to England but it doesn't sound like you want either one. Maybe you should turn them down until you find something you really want? We'll be okay for a while. I haven't run through my money yet."

" _Yet_. And if you just got me pregnant, one of us will definitely need a job. It might be harder for me to find one here, though. Genoa didn't make as big a splash in the UK, so my reputation isn't in tatters over there. Here, it might be."

"Well, we still have a few more days before you have to decide. We can do anything. Live anywhere. If you had your choice, where would you want to live?"

"Here."

"You want to come back to New York?"

"Can you get your cleaning service back?"

"Yeah," he laughs. "I think so."

"Here's good, then. For now. 'Til one of us gets a job and we have to move. My things are still here. In storage."

"Well, I didn't want to say anything in case you had your heart set on living in the UK, but ... Charlie said Jane's not working out. He said I might be able to come back if I wanted ..."

MacKenzie stares at him, delighted, as Will continues: "so ... if that's still true ... maybe we could go back together? As a package deal?"

"Really?" she squeals. "I'd love that! I'd have to talk to Jim, though. See what he wants to do."

"Okay," he says sleepily, cuddling up next to her.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"No ... but I might soon. You want to talk some more?"

She burrows into his chest as he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close. She lifts her head up and kisses him gently.

"I just wanted to say one more thing and then you can go to sleep, okay?" she says.

"Mmmhhh," he says.

"I love you. And I want to be your wife."

His eyes pop open. "What?"

"All is forgiven. If we can start over, put the past behind us and move forward together, I want to do that. Maybe we need Dr. Habib's help to find ways of fighting that aren't as hurtful but if we can sort that out, what's standing in our way? Do you want that?"

"I do but ..." he hesitates and all her alarm bells start going off. When he sees the stricken look on her face he quickly walks it back. "It's nothing like that. I love you and there's nothing I want more than to be with you but ... if it doesn't work out with ACN, what do I have to offer you? I won't have a job or a career - I threw it all away."

"You insult me. If you think you don't have anything to offer me if you're out of a job, you're crazy."

"I'm a mess."

"So?"

"You deserve so much more than I can give you. I was such a bastard to you when you came back. That laundry list you recited when I proposed. Of what I'd done to you. I'd forgotten half those things. What does it say about me that I forgot half the shitty things I did to you?"

"I think you were trying to protect yourself. And when you were young you learned that one of the ways you could do that was by hurting someone before they could hurt you. I honestly don't think you gave it much thought - before or after - that's why you don't remember."

"How can you still want me? After everything I've done?"

She wants to reach into his parents' graves and throttle them for not doing a better job of protecting their boy. Beautiful, sweet, gifted Will, whose only defense against a brutal world were his wits and a smart mouth. How could the people entrusted to take care of him be the same people who convinced him he was bad and unworthy and didn't deserve to be loved? 

"I'm tired of living in the past, Will. Just like you. If we can learn how to argue without destroying each other, I think we'll have something pretty amazing. We already do. I love you and I want to be with you and from now on that has to be all that matters." She leans over to kiss him softly on the lips. "I love you, Billy," she says, then kisses him again. "I love you," she says, gently parting his lips with her tongue. "I love you," she whispers into his mouth. She says it over and over and over again and every word is a balm for his broken heart.

"That settles it, then," he says, brushing her hair off her forehead as she pulls back to look at him. "I'd like to take you engagement ring-shopping tomorrow."

"Why?" she looks at him, bemused. "I already have one."

"Didn't you sell it?"

"Of course not," she scoffs. Her mercenary brother, however, had tried to convince her to do just that. He'd spent the entire two days after Will's departure trying to convince her to take it to Tiffany before Will changed his mind. Will doesn't need to know that, though. He's already less than fond of Simon.

"Why not?"

"Don't be daft, Will. I told you I wasn't going to sell it. You bought it, it belongs to you. Besides, I was pretty sure I wanted to wear it."

"Do you still want to wear it? After everything? Wouldn't you like a fresh start?"

"No. I love that ring. It's part of our history. We'll make new memories to overwrite the bad."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Wait here," she says, hopping out of bed and exiting the room. When she returns, purse in hand, she sees he's got another hard-on, owing to the sight of her bare ass swinging as she left the room and her full breasts swinging as she re-entered it.

"Ready to go again, Billy?" she teases.

"I can't help it. You're gorgeous."

"Glad you think so."

She places her purse on the floor next to the bed, snuggles down next to him and opens her hand, showing him the contents of her palm. He picks up the ring and places it at the tip of her finger.

"I love you with all my heart, MacKenzie. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Tears prick at her eyes.

"I will."

He slides it on and they sit there, grinning stupidly at one another until her phone rings.

She reaches down into her purse to pluck it out. Not a FaceTime call, thank God.

 _"Charlie,"_ she mouths to her betrothed.

"Hey, Charlie," she says. "Sorry - I forgot to call. It went well. I'll tell you about it later. Yes, I'm with him now. He's doing much better. I'll let him tell you about it," she says, handing him the phone as she snuggles into his side.

He wraps an arm around MacKenzie. "Hey, Charlie."

Charlie is immediately suspicious. "MacKenzie sounds chipper."

"She does," he agrees.

"So do you. Why? What are you supposed to tell me?"

He looks down at her beautiful form, curled around him. Her skin gleams, smooth and inviting.

"We're engaged," he says, smoothing his palm down her back and making her shiver. He brings the blanket up and tucks it around her and she burrows as close to him as she can.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Charlie exclaims loudly. "How did that happen?"

"I'm not sure," he says, smiling. MacKenzie laughs at Charlie's exclamation and looks up at Will and grins. "But I'm going with it," Will says.

"I could not be happier for you two. I mean it. You both coming for dinner next week?"

Will puts his hand over the phone. "He wants to know if we're going over to his place for Christmas dinner next week." His brow furrows and he looks at her, suddenly alarmed. They haven't talked about the holidays yet, or when she's going back to the UK. "You'll still be here, right?" he whispers.

"Of course," she reassures him. "Tell him we'd love to come. Sloan and Don will be there," she says, her eyes wide with excitement.

Relieved, he says, "We'd love to come. What can we bring?" He listens, then says, "OK, see you at 4:00. Bye, Charlie. Thanks for everything."

He hangs up and gathers her more closely to him.

"Do you want to talk some more?" she asks.

He scoots down so he can kiss her. "I'd rather make out with my fiancée. For a little while. Then we can talk?"

"Sounds good," she says and he rolls over so he's facing her. She throws her leg over his thigh as she kisses him tenderly, nipping at his lower lip and sighing with contentment into his mouth.

She strokes his body, touching everywhere within reach. His kisses grow more passionate and he reaches between her legs and starts building her up again until she's so hot for him she has no choice but to nudge him onto his back so she can mount him, moaning as she sinks down on his cock. It's less desperate this time but just as fulfilling. She sags atop him when she reaches her peak and it's only his hands on her hips that keep her from falling forward onto his chest.

She starts moving slowly, trying to bring him pleasure and he's so close but he wants to make sure that when he comes he gets it into her as deeply as he can. He rolls them over so she's on her back and pushes her knees up to her chest. She gasps when he enters her, thrilled at the sensation of being completely and utterly dominated by him. She opens her eyes to see that he's staring into hers. He dips his lips down to hers and kisses her, grunting into her mouth as he propels them to climax and soon they're both screaming into each other's mouths.

By the time they finish, they're both covered in sweat. MacKenzie is absolutely exhausted but she drags herself out of bed and heads for the shower.

"Want some company?" Will asks.

"I'd love some," she says, extending her hand.

"I'll change the sheets and join you in a minute."

He makes quick work of the sheets and is with her in five minutes. He finds her standing under the water, eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation of the warm water coursing down her body and the feeling of absolute contentment and satiety that's suffusing her.

"Hey," she says, opening her eyes when he steps in.

"Hey," he says, pulling her close. She motions for him to sit down on the shower bench so she can wash his hair. He does and presses his face against her abdomen. His heart aches when he sees the scar and when he looks up at her tears are swimming in his eyes. She shakes her head. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay, Billy?"

"OK," he nods.

They get out and he combs her hair and she does the same for him. When they return to the bedroom he rummages in his sock drawer for two pairs of socks. He leads her to the bed where he puts lotion on her feet and pulls the socks over her toes. She does the same for him and they turn the lights off, snuggle into each other and drift off to sleep, perfectly content.

"I love you, Billy," she murmurs.

"I love you, too."

They fall asleep but he awakens an hour later to the sensation of her mouth, warm and wet, around his cock. She brings him almost to the point of no return and then she straddles him, her hair falling around her face as she looks down to where they're joined, marvelling at the fact that he's inside her, that they're together and that for the rest of their lives he's hers. She makes sweet, slow love to him until he has no choice but to give himself over to it.

They fall asleep once more but something awakens him an hour later and he makes love to her again because he simply can't get enough of her. Or she him. Of the kind of lovemaking that approaches the divine. Again and again, throughout the night he moves within her, filling her again and again, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of her until at some point, a little after 2:00 AM, exhaustion makes her apex of pleasure a little harder to reach.

He doesn't stop, though, only switches to other, heretofore unknown tricks in his arsenal, and finally, sometime after 3:00 AM, after nearly an hour of using his mouth and hands and lips and tongue to pleasure her, he wrings an orgasm out of her that's so shattering, so deeply felt that she sobs with pleasure and release. And with it comes the words she's powerless to hold inside: "I love you, Billy. I love you, I love you, God, I love you." Then she brings her knees to her chest so that she's wide open for him, a sight that blows his pupils wide open with lust and she watches, half-conscious as he presses into her exhausted flesh and gives her another really superior fucking.

"Yes, Sweetheart, yes," he murmurs, and in the end, she wraps her legs around him and grabs his ass as he rocks into her again and again. As he roars his release, forcing himself as deeply inside her as he can, she comes again, hard, in a climax that washes over her in sharp, cleansing waves. He rolls off her and gathers her into his arms. "I love you, MacKenzie, I love you," he whispers. "I love you, too, Billy," she says softly, kissing him once more.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**The next morning**

**7:00 AM**

"Will?"

"Yeah?" he mutters into the phone. The voice of the disembodied human coming down the line sounds anxious and British so he tries to put the pieces together. 

 _Mac?_   No. She hates him.  _Who else could it be?_

He tries to focus on what the voice is saying but soon finds himself nodding off, unable to make sense of the words that are rushing into his ear like water, indistinct and devoid of meaning. He feels like he's been hit by a truck.  _What the hell happened last night?_  

The voice tries again, a little more insistently. "Will? Are you there?"

"What? Yeah," he manages to get out.

Approximately one-fifth of the speaker's words get through. _Harriet. MacKenzie. Supposed to call. Worried._

Okay.

 _Harriet. Worried. About MacKenzie. Why the hell is she calling here? She was there when Mac told me to fuck off ... no ... wait a minute_. There is _something. Something happened. What is it?_

The sensation of something soft and delightfully warm against his body captures his attention. He summons his strength, cracks an eye open and when he looks down, he's startled to discover that it is, indeed, _MacKenzie_ , her beautiful face pressed against his chest, her soft brown hair falling in waves around her cheeks, her lithe form curled around him. 

And then it all comes flooding back.

Oh yeah.  _That_  happened.

_Halle-fucking-lujah._

The words continue to spill into his ear, their speaker demanding attention like an annoying child. But it's not an annoying child. It's Harriet. Saying something he can't make it out. 

 _Must get it together. Must respond. Must respond_ appropriately _. Okay, okay_. 

"She's ... fine," he manages. "She's ... right here." His body is a lead weight that refuses to respond to his commands. However, he must _try_ and so, with superhuman effort, he reaches down and gently slides his palm down MacKenzie's bare back. Her skin is silky smooth and warm to the touch.

"Mac," he whispers, "Mac, honey, wake up."

"Is she in _bed_ with you?" says the voice in his ear, piercing through the fog. "Did you just call her ' _honey_ '?"

"Just a few more minutes, Billy," MacKenzie replies sleepily, burrowing into his chest.

"Mac -" The word is exhaled from his mouth with barely enough power to reach MacKenzie's ear.

 _What am I trying to say again?_ He hasn't been this tired in ages. He's completely wrung out - as if felled by a massive hangover. 

He brings the phone down near to where he suspects MacKenzie's ear is and lays it in her hair. _Good. I can go back to sleep now._

"What the hell is that?" she says, brushing the phone out of her hair. It falls between their bodies. She speaks into his chest, apropos of nothing. "You're still a fucking furnace and I've missed that," she says wrapping her arm tightly around him.

Suddenly, he remembers the phone. "Honey, the phone ... your -" With any luck, he'll know how to finish that sentence by the time he gets to the end of it but right now, he's so tired he just wants to go back to sleep. He comes more fully to consciousness when he feels something warm and soft curl around his morning erection. He awakens even more when he feels that something start stroking it up and down.

"But I've missed your dick more," MacKenzie says firmly.

Harriet bursts out laughing.

MacKenzie flinches but is too discombobulated to understand that the source of the sound is the phone lying next to her chest.

" _MacKenzie_ ," Will says in warning.

"What? Are you too sore?" she says, looking up at him. "I know I gave you quite a workout last night but I can't keep my hands off you.” She closes her eyes and resumes her ministrations with her fingers.

"Mac ... someone's on the phone ..." he says, barely able to get the words out. "I think it's your sister ... the phone ..." He fumbles around between them and captures it in his hand. "It's right here ... take it ..."

Her eyes snap open. "Harry?" 

"Yes ... " She takes the proffered object and drags herself to a semi-reclining position. When she's settled, Will throws an arm over her stomach and buries his face in her side.  _There. Much better_. He's half-listening to her conversation, and half-listening to his own thoughts. He's content just to hear her, delighting in her accent and the warmth of her skin. All the cement in his soul - the shapeless desires, the glimpses of other lives he could be living - are gone, and in their place is a feeling of contentment, perfectly formed and perfectly felt. In every cell in his body.

"Jesus, Harry," he hears MacKenzie saying irritably. "What time is it?" Her head aches and her eyes burn. She can barely stay upright. Her body feels bent double, like an old beggar under a sack.

"Seven," Harriet replies. "Sorry to interrupt your morning romp."

MacKenzie forces her mouth to form words and her lungs to push the sounds past her lips. "What ... did you say?"

"Sounds like you were just getting started."

"What?" MacKenzie says again, trying to gather snatches of the last few minutes back to her. "Oh God," she says, suddenly more alert. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, but don't worry. It was funny," Harriet smirks. "Guess the crisis has been averted? You pulled Will back from the brink?"

MacKenzie yawns, "Yes," she says, looking down at Will and stroking his hair. "He's doing much better."

"You both sound exhausted, Mackie. Guess you had a pretty late night?"

"Yes. Very," she yawns again.

"Which must be how you came to wear the poor man out," Harriet says slyly.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Will," MacKenzie says, yawning again. "He's got the stamina of a marathon runner. He can go for days."

Beside her, Will smirks but his head is starting to ache so he kisses her on the abdomen and forces himself to start getting up. "I'll go get us some coffee."

He swings his feet over the side of the bed, places them on the floor and shakily gets to his feet. MacKenzie admires his bare ass as he exits the room. "Hurry back," she calls after him. 

" _Days_? Really?" Harriet is saying.

"You have no idea."

"Well, things must be going well, then. That must have been why you were too distracted to call me last night."

"Oh, Harry, I'm _sorry_ ," MacKenzie says, wide awake now. "I completely forgot. Yes. I was - we were - distracted. Sorry."

"So ... I know you can't talk but ... you're obviously back together. When you can speak freely, I expect to hear every detail, no matter how personal."

"You can have the clean version."

"I expect to hear it  _all_. Listen, the reason I called - aside from wanting to make sure you weren't dead in a ditch - was because I wanted to find out if you were still going to be in Manhattan for Christmas. I guess I now know the answer."

"Yes. We're having dinner at Charlie's."

"Well, damn," Harriet says, clearly disappointed.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, I have to be in Manhattan to meet a client on the 26th, so I'm flying in Christmas Eve. I thought we could spend Christmas together."

"We can. You can come to Charlie's. I'm sure it will be fine. If you already booked the hotel, you should cancel it. You can stay here."

"Are you sure Will won't mind?"

"I'm positive. His penthouse has two bedrooms. It's a disaster at the moment but we'll get a HazMat crew in here and it will be shipshape before you get here."

"Are you really sure he won't mind? I don't want to impose."

"Harry - he  _won't_  mind. I promise."

"Well ... I'm sure he'd rather be alone with you. Besides, you've told me how cantankerous he can be and we saw a bit of that when he was here. I'd hate to get on his bad side."

" _Harry._  That's not the real Will. And even if it was, by the time I'm finished with him he won't care who stays with us."

"Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Yes."

"I had no idea you were such a nymphomaniac," Harriet teases.

"Well, when you've got the right man ..."

"And  _is_  he the right man, Mackie? You've decided?"

"He's absolutely the right man, Harry," she says, looking up to find Will standing in the doorway, coffee in hand. "He's perfect." 

Will grins, a profound happiness surging in his chest that's frightening in its intensity. Something else bubbles to the surface, a memory that makes his heart seize in his chest: the last time he was this happy it blew up in his face. Could it happen again? He looks at her, studies her. And decides to believe.

"Well. It's settled, then," Harriet tells MacKenzie. "I can't wait to hear allabout it but I've got to go. I'll be in touch with the details."

"OK, my cell phone's dead, so call me here. I love you and give Mum and Dad my love."

"OK, bye."

Will walks in and offers her her coffee.

"God, you're gorgeous," she says, looking him up and down appreciatively as she accepts the coffee from him gratefully. "I am definitely having some of  _that_  after I drink this."

He can only smirk. He sets his own cup on the nightstand and climbs back into bed with her.

"Harriet's going to be in town for Christmas," she tells him. "I hope you don't mind, but I may have told her she could stay here. With us. Is that okay?"

"Of course. The more the merrier."

"I may also have told her she could come to Charlie's for dinner. Do you think he'll mind?"

"I believe 'The more the merrier' is also Charlie's credo. I'll call him but I'm sure it will be fine."

"We have to clean this place up before she gets here and we have to get a Christmas tree - a real one, not the synthetic kind you favor - it doesn't have to be fourteen-feet tall or anything - "

"Good, because the angel at the top of the tree will be on the roof."

"... and we have to get some stockings -

"Christmas or Naked 8?"

"Christmas, you goof. How the hell do you know about Naked 8?

"Maggie told me it's a popular brand."

"Why would she tell _you_  that?"

"Why does she tell me anything?"

She looks at him, puzzled, but continues her spiel.

"You don't still have the stocking I gave -"

He raises his eyebrows at her.

"No? Well, we'll get you another one and one for Harry and one for me, too," she says, her executive producer brain, the one in command of all the details, suddenly revving to life. "All my stuff is in storage and - oh, Billy, there's so much to do, we need to go shopping and you need to call the cleaning service and get a haircut - you can't show up at Charlie's looking like a derelict - and I need something nice to wear, too - oh, we'll have to go to the storage facility - all my nice clothes are there - cripes - maybe it would be easier to buy a dress - and then you have to call Charlie and then -"

Will bursts out laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing. I adore you. That's all. Just make a list and we'll get it all done. Breakfast should be first, and then what?"

"Cleaning service, Charlie, haircut, dress, shoes, suit for you ..."

"I have a suit."

"You've lost at least 15 pounds, Will. You'll look like a little boy dressed in his father's clothes. You need a new one."

He sighs, resigned to his fate.

"... then we'll get the Christmas stockings, wine for dinner - is that what we're bringing?"

He nods.

"...oh, a gift for Nancy! What in the world would she like? ... then the Christmas tree - oh the decorations! Do you still have the ones we bought -?"

He shakes his head.

"No?" she looks at him, disappointed.

"I'm sorry, honey, but I was a little too upset to be sentimental. We'll get new ones, okay?"

"Okay. I don't have any in storage; all mine got broken in my last move and I didn't replace them. I think that's it, then. If you can get the cleaning crew in today, we can do our shopping, decorate the tree tonight and relax tomorrow. How's that?"

"It's going to be an expensive weekend."

"Look at it this way: you're actually _saving_ money because you don't have to shell out for a new engagement ring."

He laughs. "You're right."

"Besides, it will all be worth it, right?"

"If you'll be happy at the end of it, then yes, yes, it will all be worth it," he says, kissing her.

\-------

**December 24, 2012**

**10:00 PM**

When the elevator doors open into Will's penthouse, Harriet is stunned. MacKenzie had warned her that Will's place looked like a bomb struck it, so she's surprised to find herself stepping into a scene so homey, so Christmas-y, it could be featured in a magazine. The air smells like cinnamon and the branches adorning nearly every surface sparkle with twinkle lights and strands of delicate silver, green and red garlands.

Three bright red Christmas stockings hang over the fireplace, embellished with holly leaves and green velvet cuffs, the names "Billy," "Kenz" and "Harry" embroidered in white stitching.

 _How the hell did they have time to do all this?_ she thinks.

Outside Will's floor-to-ceiling windows, fat, round crystal snowflakes fall slowly to the ground, framing a huge, gorgeous Christmas tree that's throwing its shadow across the couch on which Will is sitting, reading a book with MacKenzie's head in his lap.

Will grins when he sees Harriet and starts to get up but MacKenzie tugs him back down. He tries again but Harriet shakes her head, whispering, "Don't - it's alright. Thanks for sending the car," she whispers.

He nods.

"How long has she been out?" she says, looking at her sister.

"About an hour," he says. "She's been working non-stop."

"Sorry if that was on account of me," she says apologetically.

"It wasn't," he says, waving her off. "Mac's thrilled to have you and I'm glad you're here, too. Have a seat," he whispers, motioning to the chair across from them.

Buoyed, and feeling not quite so guilty for crashing their Christmas, she sits down.

"It's my fault she had to work so hard," Will tells her. "The place was a mess and you know Mac. She loves Christmas and everything had to be just so."

"Yes, I _do_ know Mac," she agrees. She remembers many a Christmas her determined sister refused to let the family go to bed until every last Christmas decoration had been rounded up and appropriately placed.

"Do you want a drink?" he whispers. "Some tea? Hot cocoa? Are you hungry ... or would you just rather go to bed?"

"Tea would be lovely. Is the kitchen ..." she says, looking toward the back of the well-appointed penthouse. He waves her off again. "I'll make it. She's out like a light." He gingerly slides out from under Mac, soothing her, saying, "It's okay, Sweetheart, sleep. I'll be back in a minute."

Harriet grins in the near-darkness. _There's_ the man her sister's been crying over for years. So sweet. So caring. Not the cranky, combative sod who showed up on her parents' doorstep.

Harriet decides to do a little sleuthing. After all, she does have a vested interest in this affair. Besides, wasn't she practically drying the man's tears two months ago? He's in such fine fettle she's sure he won't mind if she asks him a few questions.

"What kind of tea would you like? What would you like in it?" he asks her.

"Oh, Mackie's always got an interesting stash; mind if I come with you to check it out?"

"Sure," he says, somewhat startled to find her trailing along behind him, but,  _okay_ , he thinks. He's game.

Will busies himself with the teapot while Harriet pretends to pore over MacKenzie's copious tea supply.  _One can never have too many kinds of tea_ , she's always saying.  _You never know who might drop by._

Because she's not nearly as fussy as her sister, Harriet picks the first decaffeinated tea bag she can find and hands it to Will. Then they stand there awkwardly, waiting for the water to boil.

Harriet's the first to break the silence. Mainly because Will is standing there, eyes fixed on something in the distance, obviously daydreaming. He notices her stare and tries to adopt a neutral expression but it doesn't work because she can see the smile threatening to break out on his face. 

"Thinking about MacKenzie?"

Startled, he looks at her.

"Sorry - yes. Yes, I was. Sorry," he says, clearing his throat. "How was your flight?"

"Not nearly as interesting as what you were daydreaming about, I'm sure."

He grins then - he can't help it - and Harriet thinks this might be the first time she's ever seen this particular smile grace his features. He's literally beaming.

"Sorry," he says, trying once again to adopt a more serious air.

"Stop apologizing. You're happy. She's happy. It's great to see. I mean, I haven't seen _her_ yet, but I've heard it in her voice. She's over the moon."

"I hope so. Me, too," he says softly. Embarrassed, he looks down.

"So ... " she probes. "I take it it's going well?"

"Yes," he says, trying not to smile. "Yes, I think it's going very well. Your sister is ... well, you know how ... amazing ... she is," he fumbles. He'd almost said 'incredible' but he's hoping 'amazing' sounds slightly less pathetic.

"I'm not sure I've ever thought of her as 'amazing' per se, but she's an okay sister," she says, teasing him. "No, I know what you mean. She's a good egg."

"She is," he says, pouring the water into the cup. He hands it to her, points her to the sugar and cream and then looks at her ... shyly? she thinks. She tries to keep from smiling. She doesn't think she's ever seen this aspect of Will McAvoy's personality. It's really quite endearing.

"Listen," he says, suddenly serious. "I wanted to thank you," he says, his voice cracking. "For putting in a good word for me. Really. I can't thank you enough."

"I was just looking out for my sister. She was miserable without you. And I thought you made a pretty good case. Besides, I told you she'd regret it."

"Well, however it happened, I thank you."

"You're welcome, Will. Just treat her well. And for God's sake, I hope you're looking at her like you used to. She won't shut up about how dreamy it was, how it warmed the cockles of her heart, etcetera, etcetera, barf, barf, barf. You do remember how, don't you?"

He laughs. "I think so. I'll do my best."

"Can I see it?" she whispers, leaning into him conspiratorially. "I'm dying to. The way she goes on about it ..."

He grins. "I can't quite do it on command."

"Ah," she says, leaning back. "I understand. You need the right inspiration."

"Something like that," he says bashfully, looking down.

"Well, you're in luck, because I think I hear it tottering down the hall."

"Harry!" MacKenzie says, entering the kitchen and pulling her sister in for a hug.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she scolds Will, who loops an arm around her shoulder.

"You were tired," he tells her, kissing her on the head.

"You didn't miss much," Harriet tells her. "Will just gave me a cup of tea."

Harriet glances up at Will, who's gone quiet, and sees him staring at MacKenzie with a goofy, sappy expression on his face.

"There it is!" she squeals, clapping her hand over her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other. 

"What?" MacKenzie says, following Harriet's line of sight.

"The look!"

He is, indeed, giving her "the look" and her heart melts. It  _melts_. How she loves this man, especially, especially this iteration (truth be told, she loves all iterations, even the belligerent one, though she hasn't seen him since the afternoon she arrived).

"Oh, Billy," she says softly, looking up into his eyes. "I  _do_  love you," she whispers. Then she stands on tiptoe to kiss him. He returns the kiss, much less passionately than he'd like to, wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly, as if he'll never be able to let her go. Then he buries his face in her hair.

The spray of Will and MacKenzie's perfect happiness is flung so high, spreading its radiance, that it touches Harriet with its enchantment and she can't help feeling happy herself.

Later, Will leaves MacKenzie to help Harriet get settled in her room. Then they lie on the floor in the living room with every light off but the ones on the Christmas tree, listening to the silence of the snow falling outside. MacKenzie's eyes sparkle like stars, shining with pure happiness.

"Mackie, you're beaming. You can't stop grinning like an idiot."

"What can I say? He's perfect."

"I want to hear how you arrived at that conclusion but not tonight. I can hardly keep my eyes open."

"Let's get you to bed, then," MacKenzie tells her. She turns off the Christmas tree lights, escorts Harriet to the guest room and heads for the one she shares with Will. She finds him sitting in bed, reading. She stands in the doorway, staring at him, drinking him in.

He's like no other man in the world - Midwestern charm on the outside but cerebral and enigmatic under the surface. Something about him touches her deepest desires. He's so handsome, her heart skips wildly. When he hears her approach he turns to look at her and opens his arms. She folds herself into them and buries her face in his neck, inhaling his sweet scent.

"You're still awake," she whispers, kissing his neck.

"I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Did Harriet make it to bed okay?"

"Yes, she's pretty shagged out."

She pulls back to look at him, noticing for the first time he's got a soft cloth ribbon pinned to his t-shirt.

"You've got a ribbon on your shirt," she says.

"I'm your Christmas present," he says, grinning.

"Oh, in that case, I must unwrap you immediately. Mind if I start in the middle?" she says, lifting the covers so she can coax the waistband down his hips.

"What about ... " he says, motioning to the door.

"She brought earplugs. She knows we can't keep our hands off each other."

"Well, in that case, you can start wherever you like." 


	12. Chapter 12

**December 25, 2012**

**7:00 AM**

MacKenzie awakens before Will to discover she's curled into his side. The thrumming of his heart, steady and regular next to her ear, makes her want to burrow into him more closely but she doesn't dare disturb his slumber. She settles for moving her head slightly and looking up at his face and when she sees him, tousled hair, stubbled chin and all, her heart swells with love for him. She could watch him forever, sleep beside him forever, love him forever, do everything to and for him forever. She just wants to kiss him and tousle his hair but she resists, opting instead to free herself from his grasp to go brush her teeth. When she tries to slide out without waking him he throws an arm over her waist and presses his face into her hair. As he comes more fully to consciousness, he turns his head, dips down and kisses her lips before pressing his nose into her hair once more. When she tries to slide out again, he uses his arm to tuck her back into his side.

"Where you going?" he whispers.

"To brush my teeth," she says. "I'll be right back."

"'Kay," he says, holding her more closely.

"Will, I can't get up unless you let me go."

"Don't want to. You smell good."

"I'll be right back. I promise."

"'Kay," he says, not moving.

" _Will_."

"Okay," he says reluctantly, opening his arms.

Five minutes later, she's back in bed.

"Don't go anywhere," Will tells her before getting up to brush his own teeth.

When he returns, he takes her face in his hands and presses his lips against hers - a tender, beautiful kiss that makes electricity flow through her bloodstream and everything inside her ache to touch him more. Her arms come up around his neck and he pulls her against him, his hands flattened against her back. She kisses him as passionately, as sweetly, as deliberately as he's kissing her and he holds her tightly, knotting his hands in her hair, trying to tell her, with the press of his mouth against hers, all the things that are so hard for him to say out loud. They make slow, sweet, exquisite (quiet) love to each other, punctuated by the endearments that have become so commonplace over the last few days ( _I love you, I love you, I love you_ ). When it's all over, she snuggles into his side.

"Merry Christmas, Billy," she says to him softly.

"Merry Christmas, Sweetheart," he replies, burying his face in her hair once more.

They fall asleep.

**8:30 AM**

MacKenzie leaves Will, still slumbering, to go in search of coffee and Harriet. She finds both in the kitchen.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," MacKenzie says, hugging her. 

"You too, Mackie," returning the hug.

Harriet looks at appraisingly at her sister. She's got dark circles under her eyes and can't stop yawning.

"Another late night? Or should I say, 'early morning'?"

"Did you hear ...?" MacKenzie trails off.

"No, but you two can't keep your hands off each other outside the bedroom so I can only imagine what it's like _inside_ the bedroom. Not that I want to."

"Yes, well, it _has_ been six years. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Is it as good as you remember?" Harriet teases.

"Definitely," she says, yawning. "The man could teach a master class. It _is_ exhausting, though." 

"Well, maybe it's just the novelty. I'm sure he'll stop pestering you when you've been together a while longer."

"It's not him, it's me. I can't keep my hands off him."

"Oh, right. I _do_ remember you saying something similar when I called the morning after you arrived."

MacKenzie nods, too exhausted to think of a witty rejoinder.

"We have to call Mum and Dad," Harriet reminds her. "I can't wait to see their faces when you tell them you're engaged."

"Coffee first, okay?" MacKenzie says.

"Fine. You're obviously in need of it."

"Indeed I am. And food. But coffee first. I'm not sure if you've noticed this monstrosity," MacKenzie says, pointing to an espresso machine that takes up half Will's counter, "but it's the Rolls Royce of coffee makers and it makes the best coffee you'll ever have. I can make you a latte, macchiato or cappuccino - or would you just rather have tea?" MacKenzie says, pouring soy milk into the frother of the $2,500 machine. She'd teased Will unmercifully about the price tag when it had been delivered to his office, but she has to admit it makes the best damned coffee she's ever had.

"Oooohh," Harriet says happily. "I'll have a macchiato."

She watches as MacKenzie assembles the ingredients and produces a drink in under three minutes.

MacKenzie hands her sister the cup and watches as she takes a sip. "My God, this _is_ good, Mackie."

"It ought to be, for what Will paid for it. The man's a fool with his money."

"Like he was with your ring?"

MacKenzie grabs her own mug, takes a sip of her latte and sighs with pleasure. "Delicious."

She puts her palm flat on the counter to admire the ring Will gave her. "I love this ring, but it _is_ a bit ostentatious. I'm sure I'll be mugged for it one day," she says, yawning and stretching. "We should probably call Mum and Dad."

"Don't you want to wait until Will gets up? They'll want to congratulate him on the engagement."

She _could_ wait for Will to get up, but what if her parents have some choice words to say about their engagement? After all, the last time they'd seen them together, MacKenzie had thrown him out of her life.

"Probably safer to tell them without him - what if they don't approve? Dad has an excellent poker face but you always know what Mum is thinking and I wouldn't want Will to be hurt."

"They know you're staying here, so they won't be surprised."

"I know, but I don't want to risk it."

Harriet starts the FaceTime call and MacKenzie breaks the news to her parents, who try to sound positive but she can see the concern etched on their faces. "Are you sure this is what you want, Mackie, are you absolutely sure?" her mother says. MacKenzie reassures them, telling them that despite what she'd said when he came to see her in London, she's always been in love with Will and she's now convinced he's actually in love with her. They end the phone call somewhat mollified and mostly secure in the belief that MacKenzie knows what she wants and that she'll be happy with Will.

As soon as they hang up, Harriet corners MacKenzie. "Now that you've had your coffee and we've got the parents out of the way, tell me, quickly, before Will gets up. What the hell happened when you showed up the other day?" Harriet asks her sister.

MacKenzie gives her the abbreviated (clean) version and Harriet is agog at MacKenzie's tale, particularly the things Will said to her when she arrived.

"Mackie, it sounds like Will's got a helluva temper. I'm not saying he doesn't have his reasons for acting out but he still acted inappropriately. Are you sure you can trust him? Are you sure you're safe with him? What was he thinking, telling you you couldn't use birth control?"

"He was just testing me, Harriet. He was trying to find out how serious I was about being with him. He didn't force himself on me; if anything, I forced myself on him. Before we made love, he kept checking in with me to make sure that was what I wanted. Don't worry - I can handle any version of Will - the belligerent one, the angry one, the sarcastic one - because it's all the same underneath: he's as soft as a marshmallow."

Will wanders into the living room then, hair standing straight on end, looking as bleary-eyed as MacKenzie. He leans down to kiss her cheek and she stands up to give him a lingering hug. Once again, Harriet can't help noticing that he holds her as if he'll never be able to let her go, which warms her heart. She's thrilled to see both of them so happy.

"Sit down, Billy, and I'll make you a coffee," MacKenzie tells him.

"It's okay, I can make it - "

"I know you can, but I want to."

"Okay," he says, admiring her form as she walks into the kitchen. God, how he loves this woman. He's got that goofy look on his face again and Harriet can't help shaking her head at him.

"What?" he says when he catches her looking at him.

"Nothing. You two make me laugh is all. So in love. It's funny."

"It's wonderful," he says before he can stop himself.

"It is," she agrees, smiling. "It is."

\------

Harriet, MacKenzie and Will spend the rest of the day hanging out. The latter two introduce the former to "It's a Wonderful Life," and open a few small presents (a beautiful diamond necklace with matching earrings for MacKenzie, a similar one for Harriet and a very fancy, very pricey wristwatch plus new clothes for Will to accommodate his smaller figure.

Since they'll be going to Charlie's for New Year's Eve, they've decided to forego his house for dinner. They opt for a catered affair instead: turkey with all the trimmings, fruitcake for the British contingent and apple pie for Will.

They've convinced Harriet to stay through January 4th, which is the day they've settled on to get married. The trio spends the next few days hanging out and, except for Harriet's meeting with her client, doing nothing except acquiring the marriage license and shopping for the rings and wedding dress. Harriet's never spent such a prolonged period in Will's company and the more time she spends with him, the more layers to his character are revealed. By turns taciturn and jovial, cerebral and cutting, hilarious and sweet, she begins to see how MacKenzie fell for him all those years ago.

Which helps her reassure her worried parents, who call surreptitiously to find out what Harriet really thinks of her sister's engagement. She tells them quite honestly that MacKenzie couldn't have picked a better man and reassures them that Will and her sister are perfectly suited to one another. "What we saw at your house was the Will who didn't feel he could let his guard down. It's completely down now, Mum, and it's plain to see he adores her as much as he ever did. Remember how sappy they were when they were together before? Well, it's even worse now, if that's possible. He absolutely adores her. And she feels the same way about him. You'll see, the next time they visit. They're perfectly attuned to one another and perfectly happy. It's wonderful to see, Mum. Truly."

**December 31, 2012**

**3:00 PM**

"We have to think strategically, Will. What's your story? What have you been doing for the last six weeks?"

MacKenzie is sitting in Will's lap, trying to strategize for the evening.

"What do you mean, 'What's my story?' Charlie's family doesn't give a shit."

" _Will_. It won't just be Charlie's family. There will be at least 60 people there."

"We have to bring wine for 60 people?"

"I'm sure we're not the only ones bringing wine," she says, settling herself more comfortably in his lap. "Listen, Billy. You have to take this seriously. This is going to be an event. I heard Millie talking about it last year. She said Nancy loves to entertain and they always invite people in the news business, even people from other networks. What are you going to tell them? Why did you quit NewsNight and where have you been for the last six weeks? 'Pickling my liver' is not a good answer, especially if the person asking is a news director."

"I'm sure Charlie will be the only news director there and he knows exactly where I've been for the last six weeks."

"Alan Thompson from ABC was there last year and so was Craig Lennon from CNN."

"Don't these people have families?"

She looks at him in exasperation. "No. How do you think they got where they are? They're married to their work. Listen. You know Caroline Knight?" Will shakes his head. "She's Fred Allen's EP at CNN. I spoke with her a few days ago and she told me Fred's threatening to bolt and might take her with him. If that happens, CNN might be looking for a new anchor and a new EP. If we do well with Craig tonight, that could be us."

"Can't we just enjoy the fireworks?"

"No. What are you going to tell them?"

"I'll tell them I wanted a break and I've been exploring my options."

"And when they ask you what those options are ...?"

"I'll say I'm fielding a couple of offers but I haven't decided yet."

"You can't say that. Everyone knows everyone else in this business. If you were in talks with another network, people would know."

"You obviously have an opinion on what I should say, so why don't you put me out of my misery and tell me?"

"You wanted to take a break and you've been exploring your options. Period. Let's just hope no pictures surface of you laid out in front of the liquor store."

"Very funny," Will says.

Harriet looks curiously at Will. "Does the executive producer normally report to the anchor in your business or was that unique to your contract with ACN?"

MacKenzie answers for him. "The success of the anchor is often down to their relationship with the EP, so that's often the case, though not always."

Will raises his eyebrows at her. "My success was down to you. Really?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Billy. Not _all_ of it," she says, leaning down to kiss him gently. "But you said so yourself: I was the mastermind behind the operation."

"Fine. You may have had _something_ to do with it." he grumbles.

"So tonight ... are you going to tell them you're together?" Harriet asks.

"Why wouldn't we?" Will says.

"Where I work, employees who are dating can't be in a reporting relationship - unless they start dating after the job starts - and even then, it's frowned upon. If you tell everyone you're together tonight and Will gets the job at CNN, Mackie may not be able to apply for the EP position."

That hadn't occurred to either one of them.

MacKenzie thinks about it. "She's right, Will," she says. "We might have a little more latitude at ACN but we wouldn't get the same treatment at another network."

"What are you saying?" Will asks. "We show up together, we go home together but we pretend we're not together? Charlie knows we're engaged."

"We'll ask him not to say anything."

"I don't like it. I want to be able to kiss my fiancée at midnight."

"You _can_ kiss me. We'll sneak into another room. Otherwise, we shouldn't do anything that reveals the true nature of our relationship. It's just for tonight, Billy."

"It's not just for tonight. If by some miracle, they _do_ want us both, we'll have to pretend during the hiring process and when we start the job. I don't want to pretend."

"It would just be temporary. We have to be pragmatic, Will. You've given up your agent and Genoa is still hanging over our heads. I don't think we can afford to be romantic."

**9:04 PM**

When Charlie opens the door, he's astonished at Will's transformation. Gone is the budding derelict and in his place is the handsome anchor whose ratings propelled ACN's news division to prominence. Will shakes Charlie's hand and as soon as he drops it Charlie is pulling MacKenzie in for a hug. "MacKenzie McHale - soon-to-be-McAvoy - you look absolutely stunning. It's good to see you, kid."

"Happy New Year, Charlie. It's wonderful to see you, too. Thanks so much for having us."

"My pleasure entirely. And this must be Harriet," he says warmly, extending his hand.

"Yes," Harriet says shyly, accepting it. "Thank you for having me. I hope it's not too much trouble."

"Nonsense. The more the merrier. Besides, any member of MacKenzie's family is welcome at our house," Charlie says, leading them into the toasty warm foyer. "We love her. And we sure miss her around ACN." He looks from MacKenzie to Will meaningfully. "We miss this ill-tempered galoot, too," he says, leaning closer to Harriet. "I'm hoping we can bring them both back into the fold," he says conspiratorially. "What do you think my chances are?" He pulls back to look at Harriet.

"I think you'd have to ask them," she says sagely.

Charlie smiles and looks from Will to MacKenzie expectantly.

"I think they're very good," MacKenzie answers him.

"Excellent!" he exclaims. "Now, nothing's set in stone but I'm pretty sure we can move Jane back to DC without any fallout. We still need to check with the attorneys, though. I can do that on January 3. In the meantime, you might want to hedge your bets. The news directors from CNN, ABC and CBS are here, so try to make a good impression, Will."

Will nods, gratitude bubbling in his chest. He wants to tell Charlie how grateful he is to have him in his life, how much he means to him, but all he can manage is a weak, "Thanks, Charlie."

Charlie smiles in understanding. "Don't thank me. I'm going to get you back and you're going to save our show. Besides, you know how much I love you, Will."

Will's eyes grow moist. So do MacKenzie's. She owes so much to this man. They both do. Charlie is the father Will should have had.

"Charlie, about Will and I being together," she says. "It's probably best if no one here knows tonight - for HR reasons."

"You're right. I haven't told anyone except Nancy and I asked her not to spread it around so we could surprise Don and Sloan. I'll ask her not to mention it to anyone else. Come in, come in! Sloan and Don are in the living room. I didn't tell them you were coming because I wanted to see their faces. So, let's go in together, shall we?"

They take off their coats and head for the living room. When Sloan catches sight of them, her shriek can be heard in the next county.

"Oh my _God_ , Kenzie!" she says, rushing over to where they're standing. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you were coming?" she squeals before looking at Will accusingly. "You owe me about 15 phone calls, Will. But you're alive, so that's the important thing."

She hugs them both and Will's heart swells with affection for this woman. He's _missed_ Sloan, inappropriate outbursts and all. And as he looks from her to Don, who's looking equally shocked, he realizes that these people are in fact, his family. Are as important to him as his family ever was. Why did he think that just because he was no longer working at ACN that they weren't?

"I can't believe you're here!" Sloan shrieks again. " _Together!_ Oh my God ..." She stops. _Why the hell are they here together? He fired her and she moved to the UK. Are they friends again (or what passes for friendship between these two)? Or is it something_ ... more? Sloan looks curiously at them. _Nah. Pigs would fly before Will McAvoy decided to forgive MacKenzie McHale._

"What are you _doing_ here, Kenzie? And why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she repeats.

"I'm here for an interview," MacKenzie lies, trying to head her off at the pass.

"With who?"

"I'll tell you if anything comes of it."

"Don't think you can throw me off the scent that easily, Kenz. I'll get you alone later and you _will_ tell me all."

"Don't count on it," MacKenzie says. "Sloan," she says as she drags her suddenly star-struck sister out from behind her. "This is my sister, Harriet. She's a financial analyst at Barclays. Harriet, this is Sloan Sabbith, ACN's resident economist. She's brilliant at what she does. She's also an inveterate busybody."

"Hello," Harriet says, shaking Sloan's hand. "The segment you did on the Financial Stability Oversight Council the other night was brilliant. You were absolutely right to take them to task for not imposing limits on the size of liabilities held by the largest financial firms."

Sloan glows with pride and excitement. An inside source at _Barclays_. She's definitely going to pick Harriet's brain later (surely this McHale doesn't count on her fingers).

Sloan glances again at Will, who's looking strangely at MacKenzie. If she didn't know better she'd suspect he was looking at her with interest (even more than he usually does when he thinks no one else is looking). Which puts an idea into Sloan's head: Will and MacKenzie may have graduated from ACN but Sloan still considers it her job to twist the screws - at least where Will and his not-so-well-hidden fixation on MacKenzie is concerned. If Will thinks there's some actual competition for MacKenzie's affections (and not of the _Wade_ variety, since he was never a serious contender), Will might be tempted to pull his head out of his ass. 

"Listen," Sloan says, leaning in to speak to MacKenzie loud enough for Will to hear, "You'll never guess who's here."

"Who?" MacKenzie says gamely. She loves Sloan and she's _missed_ Sloan and despite her protestations to the contrary, she's not wholly inured to the pull of lurid gossip. And by the tone of Sloan's voice, she's about to divulge something juicy.

"Mark," Sloan says, emphasizing the last consonant.

MacKenzie's brow furrows and she looks at Sloan quizzically. Is there a Mark they both know? She can't think of a single person she knows named Mark except ...

_No. The universe wouldn't be that cruel._

She quickly does the calculations, trying to figure out the odds of Mark Roberts being on Charlie's guest list. Knows Charlie? Check. In the news business? Check (he's a legal analyst for NBC, acerbic, smart and quick-witted (everything she loves in Will, she reminds herself)). Straggler who doesn't have family? No, she thinks, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. Mark Roberts has a _wife_ and a four-year old. Whew.

"Mark who?" she says tentatively, not at all sure Sloan's not about to ruin her evening.

Sloan raises her eyebrows at MacKenzie and, nods, smiling mischievously.

" _You_ know the Mark I'm talking about. Mark _Roberts_."

 _Mark Roberts?_  MacKenzie thinks. The man she spent half of last year trying to keep her hands off of? The only man in the last eight years whom she suspected might  _ever_  come close to rivalling Will McAvoy in her affections? (Not that she'd ever had a chance to test that theory.)  _Crap._ She doesn't need this complication. Not now, not ever. Not now that she has Will back.  _Oh, get over it_ , she tells herself. _Even if he IS here, he's still married. And you're engaged, you idiot!_

"Oh, that's ... nice," MacKenzie manages to get out.

"Isn't it, though?" Sloan says impishly.

"Who are we talking about?" Will asks.

"Oh, just someone Kenzie dated last year," Sloan says breezily.

" _Sloan_ ," MacKenzie says in warning.

"You'd better watch out, Will," Sloan continues. "Kenzie said Mark was the only man she'd ever met who stood a chance of unseating you as king of her heart."

"I was exaggerating. Sloan, _stop talking._  Will, let's go say hello to Nancy."  
  
Sloan puts her hand on MacKenzie's arm, stopping her. "But that's not the best part: he's getting _divorced_ ," she whispers loudly. " _Finally_. Apparently, his wife decided she'd rather be with the trial lawyer after all. What an idiot. I mean, look at him," she says motioning in the general direction of a well-dressed, handsome man about MacKenzie's age, who's just come into the room and joined a gaggle of people. "Nothing against you, honey," she says to Don.

MacKenzie feels her stomach fall into her shoes as she looks to where Sloan is gesturing and she's _horrified_ to feel her heart start hammering in her chest.  _He's getting divorced NOW? When I just got back together with WILL? She can't believe the irony. Mark is free. Ten days after she gets engaged to Will. What are the odds?_ she thinks. _I had it all wrong. It wasn't Will who hated me; it's the universe._ No matter. She's engaged to Will. She _loves_ Will.

She tries to move off in search of Nancy but Sloan stops her.

"Wait ... " Sloan says, grabbing her arm again. "I haven't gotten to the other best part ... now that he's officially free, he's looking for you. He cornered me earlier, trying to find out how to get in touch with you. He's been trying to get hold of you for weeks. I know you were just buddies before but now you can put that sizzling chemistry you told me about to the test. Go get him, Tiger."

"Thanks for the update, Sloan. When Nina Howard retires from TMI, I'll suggest you as her replacement. Let's go find Nancy," she says to Will, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"Wait," Sloan says, utterly mystified. "That's what you said you wanted, right? You're free - he's free - you don't have to keep it platonic anymore."

 _Okay, that's enough._ It was actually enough two minutes ago but it's taken MacKenzie this long to get her faculties in working order.

"Actually, I'm _not_ free."

"Come again?" Sloan says in surprise.

"We didn't want to say anything tonight in case it interfered with our job prospects but Will and I are back together. We're _engaged!_ " she hisses _."_ So for God's sake, stop talking about _Mark_!"

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," Sloan says, flabbergasted. She looks at Will, whose face is ashen. "Forget everything I said, Big Brother. I know how much she means to you and I was just trying to push you to make a move. But you already did, you sly devil! I can't believe it!" She actually claps her hands with excitement. " _After all this time_. Congratulations!" she says, pulling him in for an awkward hug.

"I won't say a word," she says to MacKenzie.

"Good. You've already said quite enough. Harriet, can you hang out with Sloan and Don for a minute? We'll be right back."

Harriet nods. _Poor Will_ , she thinks. Even she's heard about Mark.

MacKenzie turns around and starts leading Will off.

"Wait!" Sloan calls after them. "You can't just leave after dropping a bomb like that!" 

"I have to go clean up the mess you made. We'll catch up later, okay?"

Sloan watches them go, then addresses Harriet and Don. "I did a bad thing, didn't I?"

Don nods. "Yep."

"I had no idea. I would _never_ have said those things if I thought there was any chance they were _together-together_. Oh my God. Do you think I ruined it? You know how jealous Will gets."

"Let's just say I wouldn't want to be in the same room with them right now," Don says.


	13. Chapter 13

MacKenzie threads her way through the crowd looking for a quiet, private space in which Will can blow his top without endangering their careers. _The sunroom?_ she thinks hopefully until she pokes her head in and sees a man and woman making out. Eeeeewwww. _The foyer?_ No, too many people arriving and taking off their coats. The utility closet? _No, too small_ , she thinks (though such a tight space might be useful for making out after they make up).

In between poking her head in and out of various rooms, MacKenzie glances behind her at Will, who's trying gamely to respond to people's greetings while MacKenzie tugs him along behind her. The hand-holding isn't doing much to suggest they're not together, but since nearly everyone at this party is all too aware of their history she can't imagine anyone will be surprised by this breach of protocol. Hopefully, they'll figure they're just close friends. A number of people try to engage Will as he passes but MacKenzie tugs him past so all he can do is say 'Hello' followed by a quick 'Sorry.'

Of course, it's at this moment that she spies Mark again out of the corner of her eye and, unfortunately, he spots her, too. His eyes widen in surprise as she passes him by but she doesn't acknowledge him and pretends not to hear his impassioned "MacKenzie!" Luckily, it's around this same time that she spies Nancy in a corner talking to her daughters. MacKenzie makes a beeline for her, places her hand on her shoulder and Nancy turns around to greet them.

"MacKenzie! Will! So lovely to see you," she says, hugging each of them before stepping back to look at them. Her eyes go from MacKenzie's to Will's and she gives them both a fond smile before lowering her voice to speak. " _Congratulations_ ," she whispers. "Charlie and I are thrilled for you both - but don't worry - we won't say a word tonight."

"Thank you," MacKenzie says gratefully. "Can I ask a favour?" she says.

Nancy raises her eyebrows expectantly. "Of course. What do you need?"

"Is there someplace Will and I can speak privately?"

"Sure - follow me," she says, suddenly looking at Will with concern.

 _Christ, does everyone know how far I've fallen into disrepair?_ he thinks.

Nancy leads them up the stairs and into Charlie's study and closes the door behind them.

Given Charlie's casual demeanour, it's always surprising to Will just how very organized his ACN office is. His home office is no different: piles of paper, their white edges adorned with sticky notes, are neatly stacked on a huge wooden desk surrounded by pictures. Will's touched to find one of he and Charlie taken last year. In it, Charlie's got his arm over Will's shoulder and they're both smiling, laughing at whoever was taking the picture. _Was it Don?_ Will thinks now, trying to remember. He walks over to the desk and smooths his hand over the shiny surface, trying to gather his thoughts.

He has no idea why MacKenzie brought him up here but he can't help thinking the fact that she did it at all is probably revealing more than she intends.

_If this guy is nothing to her, what's the big deal?_

He stares at her, waiting for her to speak. She looks uncomfortable and ... if he didn't know better ... a little guilty.

_Why?_

"What are we doing up here, Mac? The party's downstairs."

It's a valid question. She's not precisely sure why she felt it necessary to bring him up here but she finds Mark's presence deeply and inexplicably unsettling and she needs to remind herself where her priorities lie. She also needs to reassure the man in front of her, even if she herself is not feeling particularly reassured. She reminds herself that being in a relationship doesn't automatically blind you and that part of being human is being attracted to other humans.

She chose Will. She _chooses_ Will. Just because she didn't know Mark was available at the time doesn't make her choice any less valid.

She reaches out to hold both his hands in hers. "Tell me what you're thinking," she says, staring up into his eyes.

What he's thinking is that there's something she's not telling him. What he says is, "I'm thinking the three potential employers we ignored on our way up here probably think we're rude."

"Is that all?"

"What else would I be thinking? Except that all that walking made me thirsty so I'd like to get a drink."

She exhales a breath. "What Sloan said. Are you upset?"

He waits a beat. "Should I be? Are you in love with some other guy? 'Cause I hear he's available. And looking for you."

" _Will._ You're the only man I'm in love with," she says, and it's technically true. Mark is a pipedream, a fantasy that's never been put to the test. She knows Will inside out and backwards and loves him because of - _and in spite of_ \- that fact.

An expression he doesn't recognize flits across her face ... which only serves to convince him he absofucking _lutely_ needs to find out who this guy is to her.

Only ...

... he'd really ...

.. _.really_ ...

... rather not know.

Not now, not when he's so damned happy. She's always known how to reach down deep inside him and awaken every bit of the happiness he thought he'd long ago lost the ability to feel. She's been doing it for the last ten days and he is so happy now, so impossibly happy now, that he wants to allow himself to be reassured ... but it's strange how sometimes you can be so happy it goes all the way round to fear and apprehension and that's where he's heading right now ... waiting for the other shoe to drop. And even though he absolutely, one-hundred-percent does not want to know the answer to his next question if the answer is _No_ , he's obliged to ask.

"You sure?"

She looks at him steadily. _I am, aren't I?_ Even so, her answer is a firm, "Yes."

But that expression ... the one he didn't recognize ... compels him to go further.

"I don't know, Mac. I saw something ... in your face just now ... some ... _flicker_ ... and it's giving me a bad feeling."

"That's embarrassment," she kinda-sorta lies (but not technically, really, since she has no idea what he saw on her face). "About Sloan's big mouth."

He stares at her, trying to work out what's going on in her head. "You really liked this guy."

"I did," she admits. "He's a good guy. We were friends."

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and exhales softly. "Why didn't I know about him?" He keeps his tone light but she knows him too well to not understand what this is costing him.

"Because it was a non-issue," she says, trying to match his tone. "We kept it platonic because he was only separated from his wife - he wasn't divorced. We went out a couple of times a week for six months and I haven't spoken to him in over a year."

He doesn't dare ask why they stopped seeing each other.

"That's it?"

"Yep."

And because he's now firmly in the "choosing to believe her" camp these days, he forces himself to relax. _Slightly._

"Good," he says. "Shall we go back downstairs?"

"Not yet." She steps closer to him and puts her arms around him and he returns the hug awkwardly, causing her to pull back to look at him with concern. "You _are_ upset. Talk to me, Will. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I just told you."

"That might be some of it but it's not all of it."

"No ... but ... I'm trying to trust you on this." He stares at her then, all the uneasiness visible in his eyes. "I can, can't I?"

"Yes. Are we okay?"

"You tell me. Are we?"

" _Yes._ Look, maybe we should just leave. We can collect Harriet, say our goodbyes, go have Chinese and make it an early night."

_That way, we can avoid the annoying conversations I'm not prepared to have ... with anyone._

"Sounds like a great way to spend New Year's Eve."

He peers at her closely. _If this guy is nothing to her why the fuck is she in such a hurry to leave?_ But he only says, "If we're okay, then there's no reason for us not to stay."

"Okay," she sighs. Their careers may depend on being able to successfully network tonight so she supposes they have no choice. But first she needs to shore up their connection, so she stands on tiptoe, loops her arms around his neck and presses a soft kiss against his lips. He sighs into her mouth, astounded once again at just how _good_ it is to kiss her, how being this close to her always shuts down all higher brain function so that all he can think, all he can feel _,_ is how utterly and completely in love with her he is. He has no doubt about her or them or anything in the world when they're kissing or making love because everything they feel for each other, everything they are to each other is crystal clear.

He returns the kiss passionately, wrapping his arms around her waist and half-holding, half-lifting her so she's as close to him as he can get her. She's feeling much the same way and if she wasn't in this stupid evening gown she'd be climbing him and wrapping her legs around his waist. But she is and they're at Charlie's and there's work to be done (and people to be avoided) so she forces herself to pull back but he takes one look at her swollen red lips and dives back in again, parting them with his tongue. She allows him free rein for about 20 seconds but when she feels his hand slipping down the front of her silk dress and into her bra she tries to take a step back. He retaliates by grabbing her ass and pressing himself against her, making her moan. "Billy," she gasps into his mouth, "I want you so badly but we can't do this here. I'll make it up to you when we go to bed, okay?"

"You promise?" he says, his hand still wedged in her bra. He continues to drive her mad by gently caressing her nipples and dipping his head down to kiss the exposed tops of her breasts.

"Yes, I promise. God, Will, you have to _stop_ ," she breathes. "Or you'll leave me no choice but to drag you into that closet and have my way with you."

"There are worse fates."

"Yes, like being permanently unemployed. _Stop_ ," she says again in the voice that will brook no argument. Sighing, he reluctantly pulls his hand out of her bra but before she can say anything more he's leaning in again to give her one last lingering kiss that leaves her breathless. He pulls back and she shakes her head as she wipes her lipstick off the corner of his mouth. "Let's go downstairs and mingle," she says, her head swimming with lust and desire.

"Not so fast," he tells her. "Tell me how you're going to make it up to me tonight."

"Well," she says, tucking her fingers into the waistband of his pants. "I was going to save your surprise for later but if you insist ..."

"I'm getting a surprise?"

"Hmmmm," she says, unable to resist stepping up to kiss him again. "You know that bag we brought for Nancy for the charity auction? The one with your old clothes?"

"Yeah?"

"It was also packed with our things. Harriet's going back to your place and you and I are spending the night in the most soundproof hotel in New York."

Now  _that_ is news he can get behind. "Really?" 

"Yep. I'm tired of having to be quiet when all I want to do is scream."

"I hope you're not talking about arguing."

"No," she says, slipping her hand inside his belt. "You're going to be howling at the moon before I'm finished with you and it won't be in anger."

"Jesus, can we go now?"

"No."

"When then? How long do we have to stay? Is Harriet offended?"

"No, I told her we had some stuff to hash out and she pretended to think I meant we were going to be arguing."

"We're not, though, are we?" he says, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

"Not unless you prevent us from doing our duty downstairs. So let's go."

She takes his hand and then remembers her appearance. _Crap._ "Do I look like I've just had a make-out session?"

"No," he says truthfully. "Your face is flushed and your lipstick is gone but you look fine. Better than fine, in fact. Truly spectacular. You're the most beautiful woman here ... bar none ..."

"No need for flattery, Darling. You already own me."

He stops her before they cross the threshold. "I'm not just saying that, MacKenzie. You are the most beautiful, exciting, brilliant, amazing woman I have ever known and I worship you. Completely," he says staring into her eyes as a lump forms in her throat.

_How did I get so lucky?_

"I _do_ love you, Billy," she says, cupping his cheek. "Now, let's get out of here before you make me cry."

"After you, my love," he says, extending his arm for her to take. She places her hand on his forearm and glides out the door, high on him and love and the exquisite pleasure of knowing that she's his and he's hers. They head downstairs, straight into the lion's den.

They're separated almost immediately.

"Will!" a beautiful blonde woman exclaims as she accosts him and gives him a hug. "You look fantastic," she says. "Where have you been?"

"Around..." MacKenzie hears him say but the cacophony of the room drowns out his response. Since she and Will are not officially together she has no excuse to be loitering near him so she pries herself away from the spectacle of Will being man-handled by an attractive woman and tries to pretend she doesn't want to scratch her eyes out. Tan and golden, MacKenzie's polar opposite in looks, the woman is just Will's type.

MacKenzie's heading back towards the living room to find Harriet and throttle Sloan when she hears someone call her name.

Inwardly groaning, she turns toward it. There he is. _Mark._ As devilishly handsome as ever. Which causes her heart to start beating wildly again.

_What the fuck are you, a hormonal teenager?_

She reminds herself that she cannot afford to lose her way groping among the shadows of the past. The same darkness envelops everyone who lives in her heart and since they all sleep soundly side-by-side, she has to take care to awaken only those who will be part of the future she envisions for herself. That means she has to protect her relationship with Will at all costs and prove to him that she's completely trustworthy. Which means she has to get rid of Mark as quickly as possible, hammering heart or no.

Will, hearing MacKenzie's name, looks up to see the man Sloan pointed out earlier walking purposefully toward MacKenzie. Will knows Mark Roberts by sight, knows peripherally he has a solid reputation but not much more. He most certainly did _not_ know the man had designs on MacKenzie (that much he would remember). He watches her turn at the sound of Mark's voice, smile awkwardly and say, " _Mark_." Then he watches, paralyzed, as the man reaches for her and pulls her into a hug.

 _Did he just smell her neck?_ Will thinks, blood pressure rising.

MacKenzie tries to extricate herself quickly but Mark holds on slightly longer than could be considered appropriate and when he finally lets her go, he steps back and keeps both hands on her upper arms. He gazes at her intently, an expression of wonder and sheer delight on his face that Will doesn't miss.

 _Who the fuck is this guy to her?_ He wishes he could hear their conversation but Jennifer keeps yapping in his ear. Mark's looking at MacKenzie as if she's a prized jewel he just discovered and it's doing nothing to dispel Will's fears.

"I can't believe it," Mark says to her. "I've been trying to get hold of you for weeks and here you are."

"Yes," she says, continuing to smile awkwardly. "Here I am."

She had not intended to still be attracted to him; she thought she'd succeeded in extracting the seeds that still grew in her mind and heart and body and now, at the first renewed sight of him, they spontaneously revive, overwhelming her with their intensity.

"Can we talk?"

 _No. Most emphatically, no._ She has to get away from him. "Uh, actually, my sister's here and I need to find her. I hope everything's going well. It was lovely seeing you again. Take care."

She starts to move off but a hand on her arm stops her.

"MacKenzie, wait," Mark says, bewildered. "Please."

Six feet away, Will is attempting to appear to be focusing on the conversation he's supposed to be having with Jennifer instead of the one his fiancée is not supposed to be having with another man. He can tell MacKenzie's flustered by the awkward smile on her face and also because she's blushing. Which means she's either too warm or incredibly turned on and since the temperature in Charlie's house is just this side of arctic, he suspects it's not the former.

He feels as if he's just been caught with his pants down.

 _What the fuck does this guy really mean to her?_ he thinks. _And why didn't I have the balls to ask her five minutes ago when I had her alone?_

 _Because you didn't want to know_ , he reminds himself.


	14. Chapter 14

MacKenzie tries to put an end to the conversation with Mark.

"Another time, perhaps."

The hurt look on his face gives her pause, but she's all too aware that hightailing it off to have a private conversation with him will give Will exactly the wrong idea. Not that she's obliged to give him the right idea, necessarily, or to keep proving her fidelity over and over and over again, but there's something to be said for proving it anyway, especially when this threat is not in the abstract.

She wonders if the day will ever come when she doesn't feel compelled to prove it, or when doubting her won't be Will's first reaction. Perhaps when she's seventy. Will will be eighty, then, and Mark will be seventy-one. She's never really considered the age difference between her and Will to be an impediment, but as she looks between the two men she suddenly wonders. Will doesn't look his age but he is. They discussed their age difference years ago, but they haven't discussed it recently because what's to discuss, really? She fell in love with a man ten years her senior and it is what it is. It's not like he can wave a magic wand and become ten years younger.

Still, she wonders ... will they be moving at such different cadences when he hits eighty as to weaken their bond? How many good years will can she reasonably expect to have with him? Thirty? Will that be enough? Can that be enough? She thinks so now, but will she then? She's likely to be the one left behind, and then what will she do? She's going to have to make peace with that reality somehow, and it occurs to her now that she has to do it within the next four days. But not tonight. Tonight she has to focus on the short term. Which is getting rid of Mark and making everyone here think she and Will would be amazing hires.

She turns to walk away from Mark, but freezes when she hears the next words that come out of his mouth. "MacKenzie, please. I'm getting a divorce," he calls from behind her. "We've worked out custody arrangements and the papers have been filed. It's _over_." Charlie has just turned the music down to make an announcement, so Mark's voice carries to everyone in the vicinity.

MacKenzie's face turns scarlet. Did everyone hear that? No, she thinks, looking around in relief. Just everyone within a ten-foot radius ... which includes Will, unfortunately. And since Mark is a high profile on-air talent, everyone is looking at him ... and at her, by extension. She turns around to see if perhaps Will missed it but from the expression on his face he heard every word ... and didn't care for it one bit.

She reminds herself (again) that what she and Mark had wasn't even a real relationship. They'd go out together a couple of times a week - to movies, to plays, and to dinner - and he'd surprise her with his incisive wit and make her laugh so hard her sides ached and tears rolled down her cheeks. She'd make him laugh, too, and give him excellent feedback on his show (the kind he never got from his own EP) and he thought she was beautiful and he wished to God he'd met her first, and so many times he wanted to throw caution to the winds and just kiss her but he never did because he knew she wouldn't allow it: neither a cheater nor a cheating enabler would she ever be again.

Mark knows all about Will. Well, the broad strokes, anyway. MacKenzie couldn't say too much since he and Will ran in the same circles and she wouldn't, either, except on those spectacularly bad nights when the tears would be spilling from her eyes the second she left the AWM building. Like the night she'd discovered Will had been dating Nina Howard for _months_. Mark had consoled her, simultaneously happy because that meant MacKenzie wouldn't be with Will if and when he himself finally got his shit together and seething because MacKenzie was so distraught at Will's stupid behaviour.

She knows damned well that what she feels for Mark is all wrapped up with Will. She'd been so lonely when she started seeing Mark, so desperately unhappy. She'd spent the better part of a year walking around ACN with a Will-shaped hole in her heart, and even though it was an ache only he could soothe he'd been completely unwilling to. They spent fourteen hours a day together, but she missed him terribly, missed being his to hold, to touch and to love.

So, when her friend from NBC had offered to set her up with Mark she'd jumped at the chance, eager for any sort of distraction from Will and his parade of women. Subconsciously, she'd realized later, the fact that Mark wasn't available had held its own perverse sort of appeal: at least she'd be available if Will ever changed his mind. The sad fact was, though, she was stuck: she may have wanted Will back but until he wanted her there was nothing she could do. And so, for half a year, those six hours a week with Mark had been her salvation, a balm for her broken heart.

Looking back on it now, she can't help thinking the only reason she was enamoured with Mark was because he reminded her so much of Will. Not physically, no: where Will is Grecian and golden, Mark's coloring is similar to her own. And Mark's twinkling green eyes couldn't be more different from Will's heart-stopping blue ones. No, their similarities lay in their personalities: both were cerebral and sarcastic, cutting and funny and warm and sweet and each of them, in their own individual way, had challenged her. She'd always loved that in Will and she'd loved it in Mark, too.

Still, while Mark shared many of Will's qualities, he hadn't shared all of them. Not the important ones, anyway. Where Will was loving and generous to a fault, far more concerned with her feelings than with his own (except when he was punishing her, of course, but she'd always felt - if not always remembered - that that wasn't the real Will: that was the Will who'd been so hurt and trampled upon he could only lash out in pain), Mark wasn't nearly as concerned with the feelings of others.

She'd only discovered it the last time they'd spoken, when she'd finally broken it off. It had been the first time she'd seen it in his personality, but it had bothered her and it had helped her put him out of her mind. He'd been furious she no longer wanted to go out with him, reminding her again and again that she was his oasis in a sea of loneliness. He didn't seem to care what their relationship was costing _her_ \- his only concern had been his own losses. It had infuriated her at the time: she had her own trials to bear, thank you very much, and the last thing she needed was him piling on.

The truth is, the only reason she'd gone out with Mark was because she'd been looking for a distraction. She'd found one but he wasn't Will and she wasn't in love with him, which makes what she's feeling now all the more bizarre and troubling.

 _How can I be attracted to Mark when I am head-over-heels in love with Will, when I couldn't be more in love with anyone than I am with him?_ It just doesn't make any sense. She finally has Will back and it's everything she ever dreamed of and more. So ... what in the fuck is wrong with her? She chides herself now and her stupid hormones. _What I have with Will is deep and solid and wonderful and has been tested in the real world. It's not just some fantasy. Fuck Mark and his terrible, terrible timing. I love_ Will.

All this passes through her mind in seconds. She stares at Will, not at Mark, and she can see the emotions play across Will's face, chief among them the suspicion that she's lied to him again. And though she's more than a little outraged by his lack of trust, she can hardly blame him for having flashbacks to her original sin. She's proven her professional trustworthiness over and over again but recognizes that proving it in the romantic domain might take a good deal longer.

She decides then and there that no matter what she feels for Mark (and what is it, really, beyond attraction?), she can't let it destroy what she's spent the last eight years building with Will. She raises her hand at him now, an unspoken, "Let me handle this" passing between them.

She turns back to Mark. "I'm sorry to hear that. As I said, it was good to see you again, but I really have to find my sister."

As she turns away, he grabs her arm and presses himself against her back.

"MacKenzie, wait," he hisses in her ear. "What's going on? Why won't you talk to me?"

Will sees Mark pressed up against her and that's all it takes for him to leave the woman with whom he'd been speaking mid-sentence. He strides over to where MacKenzie and Mark are standing, the voice of his ego loud and shrill in his ear: _Is she going to make a fool of me again? In front of all these people?_ Then he hears Habib's voice: _Stop and think, stop and think, stop and think. She's not making a fool of you. No one knows you're together. That jackass grabbed her. She's trying to get away from him. She loves you. She loves you. She_ promised _._

He taps Mark on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I don't think we've been formally introduced."

Mark turns to look at him.

_Will McAvoy. MacKenzie's nemesis. What the hell does he want?_

Nonetheless, Mark lets go of MacKenzie and extends a hand to Will, who shakes it.

"Mark Roberts. NBC."

"Allow me," MacKenzie says, trying to smile at Will reassuringly.

Mark looks from Will to MacKenzie and her traitorous stomach turns a somersault. How could it betray Will like that? She's almost relieved when the sensation turns to nausea because she is utterly bewildered, utterly disgusted with herself. What is _wrong_ with her?

"Mark, this is Will McAvoy." She hesitates, then says gently, "My fiancé."

Mark looks from MacKenzie to Will and back to MacKenzie, a stunned expression on his face. "What?"

"We're engaged," MacKenzie says. "We're trying to keep it under wraps right now," she whispers, looking around at the other guests, who appear to have lost interest in them. "So don't spread it around."

Mark gives a hollow, incredulous laugh. "Really? How long? When did you get back together?"

"Ten days ago," Will says, more than a little smugly. "That's the answer to both questions."

"And ... you're already engaged," Mark says slowly.

"It's not like we just met," Will says.

Mark ignores Will, fixing his gaze on MacKenzie.

"Don't you think it's a little sudden?" he says to her.

"I don't think it's any of your business," Will answers.

Mark's eyes never leave MacKenzie face. "'Kenz, can we talk? Alone?"

Will bristles at the use of MacKenzie's nickname and the familiarity it implies.

"Sure," MacKenzie says, eager to avoid a scene. "Uh ..." she says, looking around. There are hordes of people everywhere and nowhere quiet to talk. She thinks quickly. "We can talk in Charlie's office. Will," she says, turning to him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Will looks at her as if she's lost her mind. _If you think I'm letting you go upstairs alone with someone you're clearly attracted to, who clearly wants to talk you out of marrying me, you're crazy_ , he thinks.

What he says aloud is, "I'd rather you didn't."

She bristles at Will's attempt to control her but then tries to put herself in his shoes. If the roles were reversed, there's no way she would want him to go upstairs alone.

"Excuse us, Mark."

She takes Will across the room, out of Mark's earshot but well within everyone else's.

"Will, it'll be alright," she says so quietly he has to bend down to hear her. "We'll go up there, he'll say what he has to say and I'll come right back down."

"I'd rather you didn't," he repeats.

"I understand," she whispers, "But the fastest way to get rid of him is to let him say whatever he has to say and be done with it."

She almost adds, "Do you trust me?" but doesn't because it's not fair to put this on him. She doesn't have to say it, though, because that's the question he's asking himself. He trusts her ... he does ... but ... this guy is nothing but trouble and when he thinks of that strange expression on her face when she was telling him about him and her flushed cheeks when she was looking at him ... it makes him very ... _very_ uneasy. But he has to trust her. He doesn't have a choice.

"Okay," he relents. "But if you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming to look for you."

"It's a deal," she says, smiling up at him. "Where will you be?"

"Here. Waiting."

Her expression softens. "I'd kiss you but ... well, you know. Best not to start the rumor mill."

He looks at his watch. It's 9:32. "Yeah, well, you'd better think of something because I'm kissing you at midnight and I don't give a damn who sees us."

"I know just the place," she says. "I'm looking forward to it."

A thought occurs to her then. _Harriet. Harriet must be wondering where we are._ "Would you mind finding Harriet while you wait and telling her we won't be long?"

"Okay."

"Thank you. I love you," she whispers. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I love you, too," he says softly, forcing himself to resist the urge to kiss her.

She walks back over to Mark. "Charlie's office is upstairs," she says, heading for the staircase. Mark walks beside her.

"So, you were able to talk him down?" he says.

"Let's not start with the insults, Mark. This isn't a year ago: Will and I are on the same team."  
  
"So, I see. What I don't understand is why," he says.

"You don't have to."

Will watches them go, gives the woman he'd been talking to earlier an apologetic smile from across the room and goes to find Harriet. She and Sloan are deep in a discussion about that summer's LIBOR rate scandal and neither seems in a hurry to end it. He tells Harriet that he and MacKenzie are making the rounds and will be back to collect her in about 20 minutes.

Harriet barely acknowledges him; she's too busy she defending Barclays' manipulation of the LIBOR rates, saying the bank's being made an example of and that it's a global issue for which Barclays shouldn't have to take sole responsibility. The banking industry needed to pin the blame on someone, she's saying, and they'd prefer the public to lose faith in one bank rather than in the whole banking system. Sloan remains unconvinced, so they spend the next several minutes trying to come to a consensus.

Will goes back to wait for MacKenzie, grateful the woman he was speaking with earlier is no longer available to chat. It's then that the president of CNN's news division comes over, so Will dons his most affable mask and tries to hold up his end of the conversation while mentally calculating how soon MacKenzie will be back down. The man asks Will pointed questions, clearly feeling him out about his future plans, then mentions a new show CNN is putting together, similar to NewsNight. Will is intrigued, despite his compromised attention span. He offers his opinions freely, and the man is struck by Will's intellect and his ideas about the direction this new show might take.

"So, if you were to come aboard ... would you be able to recommend anyone for the EP position?" he asks Will.

"Absolutely," Will says. "MacKenzie McHale. She's the best in the business."

"Didn't she move back to the UK?"

"She was just visiting her family. She's back in town and here tonight if you want to speak with her."

"I'd like that. It'd be just like old times - you and MacKenzie together again."

"Something like that, yes."

Upstairs, MacKenzie is feeling grateful for the events of the last few minutes, because having the two men side-by-side has given her the opportunity to examine her feelings towards the both of them. Despite her troubling physical attraction to Mark (and really, what is that anyway but biology?), there's simply no comparison between how she feels about each of them: she and Will are joined at the soul, as connected, as bonded to one another as any two people have ever been. And that's the only thing that matters. Thus fortified, she leads Mark into Charlie's office, closes the door behind them and stands there in the merciful quiet.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, him wondering how to say what he wants to say and her silently imploring him to hurry up. Knowing Will is down there counting the seconds until she returns is awkward as fuck and she just wishes Mark would get to the point so she and Will can do their duty and get out of there.

She's the first to break the silence. "So ... what did you want to talk about?"

"Like I said. Rachel and I couldn't make it work, so we're getting a divorce."

"I'm sorry. How's Emma?"

"She's okay. We're hoping she's so young she won't be scarred for life."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," she says lamely. She waits for him to go on.

"Listen. I know you're with him, and what I'm about to say makes me a total dick but ... I have to. This is my one shot and I have to take it."

"No, you don't. You know my situation."

"I do," he says, staring at her helplessly. "But MacKenzie, I'm in love with you."

_Well. That's surprising. And wholly unwelcome at this particular juncture._

"Mark," she says gently. "I'm flattered - truly - but you can't be serious. We haven't seen each other in over a year. How can you possibly make that kind of declaration?"

"I know it's been a long time, but I also know what I felt for you then and nothing has changed. I knew it the second I saw you tonight. Listen," he says, taking her hand. Although she's uncomfortable, she allows him to hold it because yanking it away would seem like an overreaction. "I think about you all the time. I've picked up the phone to call you at least three hundred times but I knew you wouldn't talk to me until I was free so I got free and now you're not. Could my timing have been any worse?"

She doesn't answer but can't help thinking that if this goes on much longer Will is going to come looking for her. He will not understand her overwhelming need to be polite, so she brings her hand to her side gently. Mark takes the hint and lets go.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to break things off with Rachel. I kept thinking I needed to stick it out for Emma's sake, but Rachel and I were making each other miserable, and honestly, all I could think about was you. I know you're with him but I also know I didn't imagine you felt something for me. You're not married yet so I'm asking you to give me a chance. To prove that we'd be happy together."

"No," she says as gently but as firmly as she can. "I'm sorry, but no. That's impossible."

"How can you say that with such conviction when you said you were falling in love with me?"

"I was," she says. _Shit._ She shouldn't have said that. How the fuck is she going to backpedal on that? "But that was then and my life - my future - is with Will now."

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but come on ... that's only been true for ten days. Can you honestly tell me your answer wouldn't have been different if I'd have come to you eleven days ago?"

"It wouldn't have been. Eleven days ago I was booking a ticket to New York to see Will."

"Okay, let's not split hairs. Two months ago, then. Would your answer have been different two months ago?"

"Possibly," she admits. "But if it was ... and I'm sorry to say this ... truly ... it would have been because I thought I'd never have another chance with Will."

He winces. "So, I was just a placeholder, then. Until you could get the man you really wanted."

"No, that's not what I mean. Maybe it would have developed into something more, who knows? But I'm happy with Will. I am. And that's where I'm going to stay. You're a great guy, Mark, and any woman would be lucky to have you."

He gives a hollow laugh. "But not you."

"Not me, no. But only because I gave my heart to Will eight years ago, and I never got it back," she says gently, trying to assuage his clearly wounded ego.

"Look. I know I'm not being very respectful of your ... _choice_ ... but you might want to think about something."

"What?"

"Sometimes we follow through on the decisions we make not because they're in our long-term best interests but simply because we made them. And when that happens, you can find yourself in a situation it's very difficult to get out of."

"' _Marry in haste, repent in leisure_ ,' you mean?" she says. "I think you're projecting."

"Am I?" he says, stepping far closer to her than he has any right to. "You said your relationship with him was toxic."

Startled by his proximity, and not quite sure how to extricate herself gracefully without hurting his feelings, she just stands there. "It was, and I think he'd agree, but that's all over with." She tries to take a step back but stumbles over a ceramic doorstop behind her, which puts her in danger of falling into the potted ficus tree beside them. Mark grabs her by the waist, steadying her and then she feels herself being pulled tightly against his body.

"Thank you," she says. "You can let go now."

"Please," he says. "Hear me out."

"Mark," she says, getting annoyed. "Please let go of me."

"If your answer would have been different two months ago, that can only mean you still have feelings for me. Why are you denying it now?"

"I care for you, yes, but I don't want to be in a relationship with you."

"You wouldn't have said that a year ago, and you know it."

"Perhaps not. But I'm saying it now. So please let go of me."

"I don't understand," he says, ignoring her request. "What's changed?"

"Everything."

"I don't buy it."

"You don't have to."

He's leaning in and looking at her in the way he used to look at her when she felt sure he wanted to kiss her, so she tries to wrench herself out of his grasp. Unfortunately, he's got both arms around her and is holding on to her tightly, so all she can do is say loudly, firmly, "Mark, let me go."

"I fell in love with you, MacKenzie. You know we have something. Please don't throw it away."

She gives an exasperated laugh. "Mark, I'm sorry what I'm about to say isn't what you want to hear but it's the truth. I love Will with all my heart, and I'm marrying him in four days."

"What?"

" _Four. days_."

He shakes his head incredulously. "You can't be serious."

"I am, so please let go of me. Now. Or you'll regret it," she says angrily.

"The only thing I regret is not finding you before you rekindled your relationship with that ass."

"How dare you?" she says, eyes blazing. "Will is not an ass. He's the best man I've ever known."

"That's not what you said then," he says, staring at her angrily. "You said he had an endless appetite for making you pay. Is that really the way you want to spend the rest of your life? Waiting for the next punishment? You won't have any of that baggage with me. I can make you happy, Kenz. You know I can." His tone is pleading, imploring but she's completely fed up with this line of conversation.

"Overconfident, much?"

"Glutton for punishment, much?"

"We'll agree to disagree, then. Please unhand me."

"Not yet. I know you feel something for me. I know you do."

"Well, if I did, your boorish behavior would be killing it."

"Ah, so it _is_ still there."

" _No_. God, will you give it a rest? Let go of me. _Now_ ," she says indignantly.

"If you're so confident about being with him, why are you trying to hide it from everyone here?"

"I'll tell you but only because of the confidentiality agreement we all had to sign to get in here tonight. If no one knows we're together, Will and I can apply for jobs at the same network."

"Ah. A purely pragmatic decision," he mocks her.

"Yes. It's nothing more than that. Now, let go of me."

"Fine." He lets go of her then and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"I can't believe I was only ten days too late," he says. "How is it possible that I missed my future by only ten days?"

"It wasn't ten days. I left on election night. Will followed me to London and proposed, but I didn't accept until ten days ago."

"Why didn't you accept immediately?" he says suddenly.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, but it does."

"You're not my priest, Mark. I don't owe you a goddamned explanation."

"You owe it to yourself."

"Don't pretend you care about whether or not I'll be happy with Will. You have your own agenda, which is to get me to capitulate. To _you_."

"Why do they have to be mutually exclusive?"

"Mark. I know you can hear me. But go the extra mile and actually _listen_ to me. I love Will. I'm marrying Will. You and I were good friends once and I will always look back on that fondly but it's in the past."

"It doesn't have to be," he says, and then he's bending his head towards hers, clearly about to kiss her.


	15. Chapter 15

As he closes the distance between them, Mark's face blocks out most of the ambient light in the room and MacKenzie watches, horrified, as he presses a delicate kiss against her lips. "What are you _doing_?" she hisses against his mouth. He doesn't answer, just pulls back slightly, not daring to look in her eyes and presses another kiss against the corner of her mouth. He starts dotting her face with kisses, brushing her cheeks and nose and chin with his lips, murmuring inanities about how much he's missed her, how long he's wanted to do this, etc., etc. She's relieved to discover his kisses leave her cold and that she feels nothing, absolutely _nothing_.

" _Stop_ ," she says, but he ignores her.

She tries to thrust herself away from him but succeeds only in pressing herself harder against the wall. It's cool and unyielding against her bare back, and since he seems in no hurry to stop his ministrations, she starts trying to think of ways she might extricate herself from this ludicrous situation before Will comes bursting through the door.

"Mark, _stop_."

He doesn't respond, so she decides her only option is to move sideways. She slowly slides her hips against the wall, surreptitiously trying to angle herself out from under him, but he's got one arm around her neck and the other around her waist, so she doesn't make it far. She curses when she trips over her own feet and totters precariously in her heels. He grabs her hip, ostensibly to steady her, and then she feels his hand slide slowly, slowly down the side of her thigh. _Is he going to try to grab my ass? Oh, no. I'm not putting up with that bullshit._ She angles her hips awkwardly and tries to crush his hand against the wall but he wrenches it out just in time. _Cat-like instincts_ , she thinks. _Damn him_.

It occurs to her that she'll have a better chance of extricating herself if she's barefoot, so she steps out of her black Louboutins and kicks them to the side. Then she uses her toes to try to move the goddamned doorstop out of the way (what the hell is it doing across the room from the door, anyway?). She wedges her foot beneath the statue's leaden base, trying to lift it up and over but only succeeds in smashing her little toe beneath it. "Fuck," she mutters under breath.

Mark either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Probably the latter. Indeed, his sole focus seems to be on kissing her slowly and unhurriedly, as if he's got all the time in the world to show her what she's missing. A sense of déjà vu comes over her: here's yet another man trying to tell her what she _really_ feels and kissing her in the bargain. The difference between then and now is that she'd been secretly delighted when Will had kissed her in London. Now, she feels nothing but annoyance. And panic. Because he's not slowing down (how exactly does he plan to end this encounter, anyway?), and Will's going to come in any second, think the worst and everything they've worked so hard to rebuild will be ruined.

"Mark," she says through gritted teeth. "Stop it."

"Please let me show you, Kenz, please."

"What? Show me _what_? That you can't take no for an answer?"  
  
"How good it can be. If you'd just give us a chance."

"I don't want to give us a chance. You have to stop," she says, trying to twist her face away from his. He allows her to do so, deciding to press his lips against her neck instead. As he skates his lips slowly and sensually down to her collarbone, she can feel his hot breath against her skin and it occurs to her that he's actually quite good at this - or he would be if she desired him in the slightest.

Which she doesn't. Not anymore.

"Think about how good it was between us, Kenz. Please. We were perfect together," he murmurs between kisses.

"We were just friends, Mark. _Friends_. And friends don't kiss!" she barks. "So, let go of me and stop it. _Now_."

"I know you love me. I know you do."

"Mark. Listen to me instead of what's going on in your head. I'm sorry to say this but I don't love you. I don't."

"I don't believe you."

"How convenient," she says. She's not frightened, just incredibly annoyed at the man's gall. And since Will is due any second, the annoyance is tinged with a little more panic than she felt a minute ago. She has to get him to stop before Will comes in, but how the hell is she going to do it? She really, really doesn't want to have to resort to violence because on every other level she _likes_ Mark. She doesn't think his present behavior is malignant so much as misguided but she decides she will kick him in the balls if she has to.

Then again, is there another way to inflict enough pain to get him to stop without doing serious damage? She can raise her knee and then ... what? Knee him in the ... _knee_? Will that work? She decides it's worth a shot until she remembers what she's wearing: a full-length evening gown that makes it difficult to walk, let alone raise one's knee. She could risk it anyway, but would likely only succeed in splitting her gown down the middle and exposing the $800 worth of lingerie she's planning on surprising Will with later tonight. She has no doubt Mark would appreciate the ensemble but this set of togs is for Will's eyes only. It's an embroidered, heavily boned, nude corset fitted with panels of stretchy lace paired with a matching thong, suspenders and thigh-high nude stockings. She fully expects Will to go mad when he sees it (which is why she isn't too bothered by the fact that the outfit makes it practically impossible to take a deep breath).

 _What do I do now?_ she thinks. _Am I going to have to use my teeth on him? This is getting ridiculous._

" _Mark_. You have to stop. Let go of my arms. This isn't funny."

"I know it's not, but I've missed you so much," he says between kisses, completely oblivious to what's going on in her head.

He brings his head up to look at her - well not _at_ her because he doesn't have the balls - but past her and then his mouth is on hers and she feels him start to part her lips with his tongue.

"Stop," she says into his mouth before managing to turn her cheek, so once again he starts kissing his way down her neck.

"It's okay, Kenz, let me show you. Please let me show you," he murmurs. Although the situation is devolving quickly, her innate politeness ( _the bane of so many women who have found themselves in similar situations,_ she thinks ruefully) is making it difficult for her to seriously consider screaming for help. How can she extricate herself from this situation without ruining his reputation?

She can't help wondering how he's planning to end this little encounter. Is he going to force himself on her ... even more than he already has? He wouldn't. She's certain of that. Then again, what in Christ's name does he have in mind for the finale? The question suddenly ratchets her anxiety from a seven to a nine and though she tries to clamp down on it, it's growing, creeping through the cracks in her thoughts because Will's going to come looking for her any second and he'll never believe this wasn't her choice.

"Mark, you have to stop. _Now_."

But he doesn't. Fuck. Will he ever? All she knows is that Will is running late - either because that blonde woman has him in her clutches or the fancy wristwatch MacKenzie just bought him has already stopped working - and any second now he's going to burst through that door and think she's cheating on him. He'll never believe her again and she'll lose the only man she's ever truly loved - all because this idiot can't take no for an answer. She can feel the panic building and she knows it's just a matter of time before it overwhelms her, so she tries to relax, tries to remember what her shrink told her: a panic attack is like a waterfall that carries you away but eventually, eventually, it will release you. _Just relax, just breathe_ , she tells herself, but she can't because Will is going to think she's betrayed him and he's never going to believe her again.

She hasn't had a panic attack in over two years, not since the night she and Lonny found Will unconscious on his bathroom floor. Charlie had been watching her carefully in the hospital waiting room and recognized the signs, so he'd taken her into an unused examination room to talk her down but she's alone now, with someone who's only seeing what he wants to see and she's about to have another one and there's not a goddamned thing she can do about it. She can't wish it away or pretend it isn't coming and any second now, Will's going to walk through that door and everything will be ruined.

That knowledge turns the panic into a swell that lurches up from unseen depths. It's as if she's been standing waist-high in a waveless sea when a great body of water suddenly heaves itself up and over and pulls her under. It's clutching at her insides now, squeezing out the air and the blood and she could throttle herself for wearing the fucking corset because now it's practically impossible to breathe. What little breath she does have is coming in short, quick gasps and Mark has either gone deaf or thinks she's incredibly turned on.

Either way, he is not getting the fucking message.

" _Stop_."

He doesn't and suddenly, it's as if her organs are rebelling against her, as if she's throwing them _up_. She's panting now, trying to get air and Mark is so focused on what's going on in his own head that he can't see it or won't see it and _fuck him_ and _shit_ , she has to stop this because it's been more than ten minutes and _fuck,_ and _fuck,_ and _fuck_. She screws her eyes shut, trying desperately to calm down.

All too predictably, Will chooses that moment to open the door to Charlie's office. He freezes, paralyzed by what he's seeing. _Is she ... making out with that asshole?_ Can that possibly be what he's seeing? He simply can't process it. And then he's nothing but enraged. She's done it again. She's lied to him again. She's cheating on him  _again_. Only this time, he's here to witness it. _Jesus Christ._   _How could I have been so stupid? Again_? _Goddamn her. Goddamn her to hell._

MacKenzie doesn't see him because her eyes are screwed shut and she's just trying to focus on getting her lungs to cooperate. This is no longer a mere annoyance she can shrug off. She can't fucking breathe and Mark has to _stop_.

Will's seen just about all he can take. _She wants this bastard over me? Fine. I am done with her. Done. Fuck her._ He starts to turn the doorknob so he can leave her to her incessant cheating but stops when he hears her voice.

"Why won't you _listen_ to me ... you have to ... stop ... I can't _breathe_ ... I can't ..."

_She doesn't want this?_

The tone of her voice and the import of her words finally get through to Mark and he looks up, stunned to see the panicked look on her face. He lets go and starts to say, "Kenz, what's wrong?" but the words die on his lips when he feels himself being jerked up and back and Will's voice in his ear, incandescent with rage: "Get the fuck away from her, you sonofabitch! She just told you she can't _breathe._ " Will tosses him across the room where he lands hard on his ass.

MacKenzie's eyes jerk open when she hears Will's voice. "Billy ... I can't ...I _can't_ ..." she wheezes, reaching out her hands to him as she slides down the wall. Will catches her by the elbows and pulls her against him, trying to keep her on her feet without crowding her.

"What's happening?" Mark says. "Should I call a doctor?"

"Kenz?" Will asks her.

She shakes her head. She just needs to relax and this will pass. It will _pass_.

"No," he barks over his shoulder. "OK, deep breaths, honey - "

She grabs Will's hands, tries to move them to her back but the idiot doesn't understand so she's compelled to speak, to communicate the fact that he has to undo the hooks on that fucking corset or she'll never breathe again. "Unzip me ...... too tight," she says desperately and her face is red and she's gasping and he reaches behind her and deftly unzips the gown and then she's shoving her dress off her shoulders and trying to undo the hooks but she can't get her fingers to work properly. "Corset" she wheezes ... "loosen ... hooks ... in front ..." she wheezes.

"Okay, honey, I've got it," he says, a hundred times more calmly than he feels. "Hurry," she gasps. He tries to shield her from Mark's prying eyes while simultaneously trying to figure out how the fucking hooks work but the room is dark and he's old and he can't see what he's doing. "Turn the overhead light on, damn you!" he barks at Mark, "and turn around!" Mark immediately obeys and flips on the light and suddenly Will can see. There are dozens of those tiny hook-and-eye closures ( _what the fuck is she wearing?_ ) down the center of the corset and finally, finally he sees how they come undone.

"It's okay, honey, it's okay, almost there ... they're coming undone ...almost there ... just a few more." As he reaches the end of the row she gasps and tries to fall forward into his chest but he grabs her shoulders and pushes her back instead, knowing her best chance of getting air is if she remains upright. Her breasts spill out of the cups and if the entire party from downstairs had suddenly arrived to bear witness she could not have cared less because she can't fucking _breathe_.

Will stares into her panicked eyes. "Close your eyes, sweetheart. Focus on my voice," he says. She does as she's told and screws her eyes shut, listening to the sound of his voice, calm, honeyed and soothing. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to five each way," he commands her. "Ready? In through the nose. One, two, three, four, five. Out through the mouth. One, two, three, four, five, that's it."

"Keep going. I'm just going to put my jacket over you. You're doing great." He takes his jacket off, drapes it over her shoulders, brings the two panels together in front of her and pushes a button through the hole. She's swimming in the jacket, so he's not worried about cutting off her air supply, but at least she won't be exposed to that bastard.

A couple of minutes pass with no sound in the room but Will's voice, soothing and calm, and MacKenzie's labored breathing. As she listens to Will's voice she can feel it returning to something approximating normal and on the eighth pass, she opens her eyes and stares into his remarkable blue ones.

"Better?" he asks her tentatively.

She nods.

He exhales audibly. Good. "You're doing great, honey. Just keep it up. Out through the mouth ...... one ...... two ...... three ...... four ...... five."

The love and concern shining out of his eyes bathes her in warmth and as she continues to stare, another kind of wave washes over her - not panic this time but warmth and love and an achingly deep tenderness for this man, who clearly loves her so much. All she can think, all she can feel is that she adores him equally. Her heart starts pounding anew, thudding so hard and audibly in her chest she's sure he can hear it.

He's not behaving as if he blames her, but then again he wouldn't - not until he knew the danger had passed. Does he think she was a willing participant in Mark's overtures? Worse, does he think she instigated it?

"Billy," she whispers.

"I'm right here, Kenz. What do you need?"

"I didn't want him to -" she starts, but he interrupts her before she can finish. "I know. I heard you. Everything's okay."

"Are we?"

"Of course," he says, kissing her forehead. "You feeling better?"

"Getting there."

Crisis averted, Mark takes this opportunity to butt in. "What happened?"

Will's expression goes from loving to murderous in the space of a single second. He cranes his neck around to look at Mark. "She has PTSD, you asshole, and you triggered a panic attack. If you touch her again, I will break every bone in your body. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Mark says, defeated. "Kenz, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean -"

"Save it," Will says.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Mark repeats.

She remains silent, having no idea what to say to him.

"Apology not accepted," Will says. "Now go sit at that desk. You can wait there until the police get here."

"What?" MacKenzie and Mark say at the same time.

"He assaulted you. We're calling the police."

She puts her hand on Will's chest. "I don't think that's necessary, Will. I'm not going to ruin his life over a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding? You told him to stop and he didn't. Are you gonna let him do that to another woman?"

"He wouldn't." She looks over Will's shoulder at Mark. "Would you?"

"No. I'm sorry - I thought you ... I thought you were feeling guilty but that you really - I'm sorry - I know how asinine that sounds but I will never do it again. Ever. To you or anyone else. I've learned my lesson. I swear."

"And you believe him?" Will asks. "How do you know he doesn't do this all the time?"

"I know him. He can be selfish and idiotic but he's not a rapist."

"You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment, Mac."

"So are you. Besides, I did the same thing to you ten days ago. Why didn't you call the police on me?"

"I didn't tell you to stop. I asked you what the fuck you thought you were doing but I didn't tell you to stop."

"What about in London?"

"You didn't tell me to stop."

"I did."

"No, you ..." And then he remembers her pushing him away. "And I stopped."

"You grabbed me again after I pushed you away. Because you were convinced you knew my true feelings. Just like he was."

"Fine. What do you want to do?"

She raises her head to look over Will's shoulder at Mark. "I just want to forget this ever happened," she says. She looks up at Will, whose head is still turned towards Mark. He's staring at him as if he would just as soon beat the shit out of him as look at him, so she tries to defuse the situation. Putting her hand on Will's cheek, she gently turns it towards her. "Did you talk to Harriet?" she says to him.

He looks at her briefly but then his eyes swing back over to Mark. "Yes. She's fine." She moves her hand to the side of Will's eye, blocking his view of Mark. Taking the hint, he stares down at her. "What do you want to do now?"

"We should go back down, but I can't go like this. Do you know where Charlie's bathroom is? I'm going to try to make myself look presentable."

"You're the most beautiful woman here, Kenz," Will says, helping her get to her feet. "But the bathroom's over there," he says, pointing to an ensuite bathroom on the opposite wall. "Let me know if you need me to zip you up." "I will," she says. "Harriet did it earlier."

He leads her to the door, opens it and guards the door while she's in there. Once inside, she splashes cold water on her red and splotchy face. She looks a fright. Her hair is askew from being pressed against Will's chest, so she tries to fix it as best she can. In the end, it doesn't look too bad, so she does up the hooks on the corset (a task much easier to accomplish when adequately oxygenated), and pulls the straps of the dress up over her shoulders.

She opens the door slightly and looks out. "Billy, can you zip me up, please?"

She opens the door wider to admit him. He steps behind her, smoothing his palm over the exposed skin of her back. "What the hell is this, Kenz?" he asks, tucking his finger beneath the back panel of the corset. "I was afraid you'd pass out before I figured out how the hooks worked."

"I bought it for you - to surprise you tonight."

"It was a surprise, alright."

"You don't like it?"

"You look fantastic. Next time warn me, though, will you? So I'm prepared. In case of an emergency."

"I will."

He zips up her dress and caresses her shoulders before leaning in to press his lips against her neck. She turns around, loops her arms around his shoulders and stands on tiptoe to kiss him. "I might need your help getting it off later."

"You got it, honey."

"Is Mark gone?"

"I don't know. I'll go find out. But you don't have to worry about him."

"I'm not. I just don't want you two to get into a fistfight."

"Don't worry about it."

"Promise me you're going to keep your temper in check."

"I can't promise anything. Listen," he says, staring at her intently. "I know now isn't the time, but you should know I'm going to want to talk about what just happened."

"Okay. Later, though. I just want to get through the next hour-and-a-half and get out of here."

"Okay."

"I'm just going to fix my make-up. I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

"Alright," he says, kissing her.

Will exits the bathroom and sees Mark standing next to Charlie's desk, looking sheepish and contrite.

"You're still here," Will says.

"I just wanted to tell MacKenzie again how sorry I am. Then I'll go. Look, Will. I'm sorry I acted like such an ass. I was sure she still had feelings for me ... I was sure of it."

"She kept telling you to stop. Why didn't you listen?"

"I thought she was just feeling guilty. About you. If she'd have accepted me two months ago, how could her feelings have changed so much between then and now?"

_Two months ago? What the fuck is he talking about?_

"What makes you think she'd have accepted you two months ago?"

"She told me."

Will manages to keep his expression neutral.

"That's one of the reasons I didn't listen," Mark continues. "That and the reason she broke it off with me in the first place."

"What possible reason could she have given you that would have made it okay to ignore her when she was telling you to stop?"

"She said she couldn't see me anymore because she was falling in love with me and she couldn't afford to fall in love with a married man. I was sure she still felt that way. I was sure of it. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm an asshole and I'm sorry."

The weight of Mark's words makes Will nauseous.

She was falling _in love_ with him?

But all he says is, "The next time someone tells you to stop, you'd better fucking listen."

"I know."

MacKenzie comes out then, looking much less dishevelled but her face is still impossibly red. She's going to have to wait until it calms down before trying to re-apply her makeup.

"MacKenzie, I'm sorry," Mark says again. "I'm truly sorry."

"I don't even know what to say to you, Mark," she says tiredly, suddenly exhausted. She puts an arm around Will's waist, but instead of looping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, he doesn't respond.

She looks up at him. "Will? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," he says, not looking at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She slides her palm up his chest. "I know you pretty well. What's wrong?" she says.

_You want to push this? Fine. Let's get it all out there, shall we?_

"Gee, could it be that you fell in love with another guy and forgot to tell me?" he says with sudden venom.

"What are you talking about?"

"Him," he says, gesturing towards Mark. "You fell in love with him. How did I not know that?"

Alarmed, MacKenzie turns to Mark. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing ... I just told him the reason I acted like such an ass."

"And what reason was that, pray tell?"

"I was sure you still felt something for me. Because of the reason you broke it off with me in the first place."

 _Oh fuck._ "What exactly did you say to him?"

"I just told what you said at the time. That you were falling in love with me and you couldn't afford to fall in love with a married man."

She could throttle him. How dare he reveal that to Will? Now Will knows just how deep her feelings for Mark went. Or how deep she thought they went. At the time.

"Christ, Mark. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"What?" he says.

She ignores him, turning to Will and suddenly furious at having to prove her fidelity _again_. Not that she was under any obligation to be faithful at the time, she reminds herself, so where the hell does he get off being upset about any of it? No matter. It is apparently her lot in life to continually have to defend herself against Will's charges - real and imagined, whether she's short of breath or not. _What's one more time?_

"I _did_ say that," she tells Will angrily. "But the key word in that sentence was 'falling.' Not 'fell.' I am in love with _you_ , Will. I've been in love with you for eight years and I'm marrying _you_. And that is all I have to say on the subject. To either one of you!"

"Really?" Will says. "You're angry with _me_ right now?"

"I'm angry because I thought we settled this when we got back together. Do you remember anything you said to me that night?"

"I said a lot of things."

"Yes. And most of them weren't complimentary. But when the shitty part was over and we got to the good stuff you said you trusted me because I've spent the last three years proving you can. You were obviously lying to yourself. And to me."

"Brava, Mac," he says derisively. "Way to deflect. Can we get back to the subject?"

"And what is that exactly?"

"You didn't think the fact that you'd actually fallen in love with someone might be ... I don't know ... a topic of _interest_?"

"Do you have cotton in your ears? I told you I didn't finish falling. It was a non-issue."

"Well, I'd say the fact that you were even in danger of falling is pretty big fucking news - considering you said were never truly in love with Brian Brenner," he says, spitting his last name out, "Or that other asshole, _Wade_. To hear you tell it, I'm the only person you've ever actually been in love with."

"That's because you make it so easy."

To her amazement, Will laughs. It's a rather bitter laugh, no joy in it, but it startles MacKenzie so much she stares at him.

"You're funny," he says. "But let's get back to the matter at hand. How could you keep it from me that you fell in love with another guy?"

"I just told you: I didn't finish falling. Besides, as I recall, you were preoccupied with other things at the time - like being Nina Howard's _bed warmer_."

"You and I weren't together," Will says.

" _Exactly_."

"Remind me again - why are you angry with me?"

"I don't know."

"I'll tell you why. Because the best defense is a good offense."

" _Right_."

"Look. Even if you and I weren't involved ... we still spent fourteen hours a day together. Which means you had plenty of opportunities to tell me you were falling in love with someone. Why didn't you?"

"How many times do I have to say it, Will? I didn't fall in love with anyone. And even if I did ... do you honestly think that's something I'd share with my ex-boyfriend? You and I didn't talk about who we were dating and I was more than happy to keep it that way because the thought of you with anyone else makes me want to vomit. But if you insist, feel free to tell me about the woman who hung on to you like a life preserver when we went downstairs earlier."

"That's Jennifer and we're old friends."

" _Good_ friends, by the looks of it."

"Don't change the subject."

"And what exactly is that?"

"That you fell in love with another guy and didn't bother to tell me."

"Listen, I haven't noticed you bending my ear with the names of all the women you've fallen in love with over the past six years.

"Who the hell would I have fallen in love with? You know damned well you're the only woman I've ever loved."

"Well, that's what you said when we were together before. How was I supposed to know it was still true?"

Will rolls his eyes.

"Oh - I suppose _now_ you've changed your mind."  
  
"About what?"

"Being in love with me."

"Listen, hon, I spent six years trying not to be but here we are."

"Oh, so you're in love with me against your will."

"No. I'm in love with you, period. That's just the way it is. And it's never going to change. And you know what? Up until three minutes ago, I was pretty fucking happy about it."

"And now?"

"And now I'm wondering how many other guys are going to come crawling out of the woodwork."

"I'm going to give you a pass on that because you're upset. I haven't dated anyone except Mark - _if_ you can even call that dating - since Wade, so you don't have to worry about any other suitors." She shakes her head at him, exasperated. "What is the point of this conversation, Will? You and I both dated while we were apart and neither one of us fell in love. End. of. story."

"This is all very entertaining, MacKenzie," Mark says. "... but can I cut in for a minute?"

"No," Will and MacKenzie say simultaneously.

"Marry me instead."

She snorts derisively. "After you just assaulted me? Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, _now_ he assaulted you?" Will says.

"I'm sorry about that. I truly am," Mark says. "We'll take it as slow as you want."

"There is no speed at which we could possibly take this that would make me accept your offer."

"Think about the kind of life you'll have with him versus me. I can give you everything he can plus a whole lot more."

"Like non-consensual sex?" she says.

"No. _No_. I'm sorry about that. I am."

"So, Mac," Will says. "Two proposals. Which one do you choose?"

"Have you _also_ lost your mind? I already chose. You were there, remember?"

"Ah ... but you didn't know _he_ was available. Now, how do you feel?"

"What do you mean, ' _now how do I feel_ '?"

"Are you going to stand there and tell me what he just said means nothing to you? You _were_ falling in love with him, after all."

"Mark, leave us," she says, not looking at him. "I need to speak with Will. Alone."

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I'll ... okay." He turns on his heel and walks out, closing the door behind him.

MacKenzie glares at Will, trying to master her emotions. She has no idea what the fuck is going on with him but she's going to find out. "Are you _trying_ to get out of this? After everything we've been through, after everything we've said and done over the last ten days - are you _trying_ to get out of this?"

"No. I'm not. I'm trying to think rationally. Because I don't want to wake up five years from now to a note saying you've run off with him."

"That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

"Why would I?"

"'Cause maybe he's right. Maybe you would be happier with him."

MacKenzie's jaw drops.

"With an assailant. You think I'd be happier with an assailant."

" _Now_ he's an assailant?"

She ignores him. "What has gotten into you? We have the most beautiful, amazing relationship and you want to throw it away?"

"No, but I want you to be sure. If you were falling in love with him, maybe you owe it to yourself to see if you'd be happier with him. Assault notwithstanding. I want you to be happy, Mac. That's all."

Her hands clench into fists because she could throttle him, too. "Listen to me, you simpleton. I couldn't _be_ happier with anyone than I am with you - it's not physically possible. So why in the hell would I want to be with anyone else? And if you're offering to walk out that door in some misguided attempt to be noble, you'd better be damned sure that's what you want, because I will _not_ let you in again. Do you hear me? That's it for us. You either trust me or you say goodbye to me right now. I'll go back to your place, pack my things and go back to London. And I will _never_ speak to you again. Is that what you want?"

She's so angry that the tears that were threatening to spill over a moment ago are now spilling over her eyelashes.

_Who the hell else has to spend New Year's fucking Eve like this?_

"God, honey, no. That's not what I want. Come here," Will says, pulling her against him.

She wraps her arms around him, presses her face against his chest, inhales his sweet scent and immediately starts to calm. He's her rock. He always has been and he always will be. She pulls back to look at him.

"Then stop being a paternalistic ass and trying to convince me I don't know my own mind. Or my own heart."

"Okay, okay, I believe you," he says, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. And because she's a magnet, he has no choice but to bend down and press his lips against hers. She returns it desperately because she _is_ desperate. Desperate to put this whole disaster of an evening behind them. He wraps his arms around her tightly and it is so good, so welcome to be in his arms that she can't help thinking back to just a few minutes ago when she was feeling trapped because she was in Mark's. _This_ is right. _This_ is perfect. _He_ is perfect. And she loves him more than she thought it was possible to love anything or anyone.

She breaks the kiss and pulls back to look at him. "I love you, Billy. I love you."

"I love you, too. What do you want to do?"

"I can't go down there because my face is still so red, but you can. You should go mingle. I'll be down after my face calms down. In the meantime, would you mind asking Harriet to come up here?"

"I've already mingled and I'm not leaving you alone."

"I'll be fine for the five minutes it takes you to find Harriet. I don't think Mark's a threat to my person."

"He attacked you."

"It was a misunderstanding. He won't do it again."

"How do you know?"

"Because he now knows - in no uncertain terms - that there's no chance for him and me. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's afraid you'll kick his ass."

"I don't like it."

"Please?"

"OK. I'll be right back." He dips his head down to kiss her again and she hugs him tightly before letting him go.

Will finds Harriet talking to Sloan and flirting with a producer from NBC. She turns around when Will taps her on the shoulder but before she can respond, Sloan says, "Where's MacKenzie? I haven't seen her in ages."

"She's not feeling well. Harriet, can you come with me?"

"Sure," she says, looking at Will with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing serious. I'll let her tell you."

They run into Charlie, who asks Will where MacKenzie is and if he can have a word with them both.

"Mac's actually in your office. She's not feeling well."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Does she need to lie down? There's a guest room next door to the office."

"I don't think that's necessary, but thanks. I was just taking Harriet to her. She'll be down in a little while - can you wait to talk to us until then? Or do you want to talk to me and I'll relay the message?"

"Let's do that. Come back down as soon as you can though, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Charlie."

"What was that about?" Harriet asks Will as they're walking away.

"I have no idea."

While Will's downstairs, MacKenzie waits for her face to calm down and idly scrolls through her text messages. She looks up when someone knocks on the door. "Come in," she calls. The door opens and Mark walks in but freezes when he sees MacKenzie sitting there. "I'm not here to cause any trouble," he says, looking around for Will. "I can't find my wallet. I thought it might have fallen out of my pocket when Will ... you know."

"I haven't seen it."

"Yeah," he says, scanning the floor. "Doesn't look like it's here." His eyes swing back up to hers. "MacKenzie," he says. "I'm truly sorry for what happened tonight."

"I believe you."

"Okay, then. I'll ... see you around, I guess. Be happy."

"I will. You, too." She can feel herself starting to tear up and she has no idea why except that she just said goodbye to someone she'd once considered a good friend.

He opens the door to leave and narrowly avoids plowing into Harriet and Will.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from her," Will says, elbowing Mark aside to get into the office. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees MacKenzie getting to her feet, apparently unharmed.

"Everything's fine, Billy," she says. "He was just looking for his wallet," she says as Mark disappears down the hallway.

"You okay?" Will asks.

"Yes. I'm fine. It's just been a long night."

He looks at her strangely, as if he doesn't quite believe her, but says nothing. Harriet looks from Will to her sister and immediately goes to sit beside her. "Mackie, what happened?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you in a minute but mostly I just wanted to tell you where I am and that I'll be down as soon as I re-do my makeup."

"I'll stay with you."

"Charlie wants to speak with us about something," Will tells MacKenzie. "He didn't say what but I told him I'd be down in a minute. You'll come down in a bit?"

"Yes."

"Harriet, you'll stay with her the whole time?"

"Of course."

"Will, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need a babysitter."

"I'd feel better if you weren't alone."

She sighs. "Okay, so long as Harriet doesn't mind."

"I don't."

Will leaves them and MacKenzie relates the whole, ridiculous story.

"My God, your love life is complicated."

"It isn't. It's just my rotten luck that Mark was here tonight."

"We're alone, so you can tell me the truth. How do you really feel about Mark?"

"There's no competition. Will is Will and Mark is ... was ... a stand-in for Will."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"And how are you going to convince Will of that?"

"I don't know."


	16. Chapter 16

In Charlie’s blue living room festooned with fairy lights, men and women come and go like moths, flitting from one pool of light cast by a celebrity to another.

"How's MacKenzie feeling?" Charlie asks Will as he closes the door to Nancy's office, shutting them both inside. The crackle of the fire adds comforting pops to the soft chatter of women’s voices and the occasional booming laugh of some stalwart newsman that floats through the door.

"Better. Her sister's with her now," Will says, glancing at the door.

"Everything okay?"

"What?" Will says, pulling his mind back from what just happened upstairs. "Oh ... yeah. Everything's fine."

And it would be … mostly … if he could just get that image of MacKenzie out of his head, the one in which she appeared to be enjoying that asshole’s attentions. It would be even better if he could get the feeling that image aroused in him out of his body, the humiliation and shame he’d felt in the moments he thought she was cheating on him _again_.

"Care for a drink?" Charlie asks him.

"No,” Will says, shaking his head. “Thanks, anyway."

"MacKenzie veto it?"

"Yeah."

Charlie raises his glass to the absent MacKenzie. "She's a good woman, Will. You were drinking too much. She's looking out for you."

"Yeah - well, yeah."

Charlie looks at him quizzically. "Something else going on?"

"No ... it's ... just ... never mind." Christ, can’t he even pretend to be circumspect these days? Everything’s at the surface, ready to come spilling out at the slightest provocation. And to Charlie, no less.

"I'm here, Will. If you need to talk, I'm here."

An awkward smile appears on Will’s face. He starts to speak and then stops, wondering just how much he should reveal. He finally decides ‘what the hell’ when he sees the affectionate and concerned look on Charlie’s face. In the end, Will just shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. "No, it’s nothing like that - it's just that ... we're trying ... _trying_ ..." he stammers, "and alcohol can cause ... fertility problems."

"You're already trying for a baby?"

"Well, it'll probably never happen, but Mac ... she wants this ... she feels like we've wasted all this time. She wants to fast forward to where we would have been if we hadn't spent the last six years apart."

"And you? How do you feel about it?"

How does he feel about it? He wants it, too. He wants a child with MacKenzie’s eyes and face and laugh, a vessel into which he and MacKenzie can pour all the love they feel for one another. He wants to teach his son or daughter to fly a kite the way his uncle taught him, to throw a baseball, to read, to play the guitar, to count, and to debate. He wants a little person to nurture and care for, someone besides MacKenzie to whom he can devote himself. He’s also self-aware enough to acknowledge the unprincipled part of his desire, which is to cement his and MacKenzie’s relationship into something permanent, something that can’t be dissolved. But in answer to Charlie’s question he only says, "I want to make her happy. Don't get me wrong, I'd be thrilled if it happened, but I'm not getting my hopes up."

"And how's the rest of it going? Being back together?"

He gives Charlie another sheepish grin. "It's fantastic - or it was ... until about 30 minutes ago. No, it _is_ fantastic. God, Charlie, you know how much I love her.'

"I do. So … what happened 30 minutes ago?" Charlie asks.

"You know Mark Roberts? That jackass from NBC?”

"Yeah. I invited him. Didn't think he was a jackass, though."

"Well, he is. Apparently, he and MacKenzie had a thing."

"Jesus, Will. I never would have invited him if I'd known that."

"It's not your fault. I didn't know about it, either. He's been trying to get in touch with her because he's getting divorced and ... Christ, Charlie,” Will says, standing up and starting to pace. “The reason she's in your office right now … with the door locked … is because … well … she refused to call it ‘assault’ … but he tried to convince her to ditch me and marry him."

"In my house?" Charlie says, getting up from the chair at Nancy's desk and striding over to where Will’s standing. "He assaulted MacKenzie in my house?"

"I don't know ... maybe ‘assault’ isn't the right word ... Mac doesn’t think it is, but let's just say he was trying to be _persuasive_ ... and she had a panic attack."

"Jesus. How far did he go?"

"Not far, I don’t think. I pulled him off her."

"You had to pull him off her?"

"He had her backed up against the wall. He was … _kissing_ her,” he says with disgust, “… and she started freaking out and that's when I came in. I threw him across the room, we got her breathing back to normal, and she's waiting 'til she looks like she hasn't been crying before she makes her re-appearance."

"For fuck's sake, Will. Is he still here? I'm going to tell him to get the hell out," Charlie says, heading for the door.

"Mac doesn't want any trouble. She just wants to pretend it never happened."

"What if he tries to pull that shit on someone else here tonight?"

"That's what I said, but she's convinced it was special circumstances because he thought she was in love with him. He was pretty apologetic, but … I don’t know … she obviously knows him better than I do and she's willing to vouch for his character."

"Excuse me," Charlie says, turning the door handle.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't have someone assaulting people in my house. Special circumstances or not."

Unluckily for him, Mark is just walking by when Charlie opens the door.

"Mark? A word?"

"Hey, Charlie," he says, stepping into the room. He takes a step back when he sees Will, then glances around, looking for MacKenzie.

"You assaulted one of my guests," Charlie says.

"Yeah ... I ... uh … how is she?” he says, looking at Will.

“As if you give a shit,” Will answers. “The only thing you need to worry about is staying the hell away from her.”

“I’m sorry.” Mark turns to Charlie. “Look. As I told MacKenzie. _And_ Will. I completely misinterpreted the situation and it’s all my fault. I’m truly sorry. Anyway, I was just leaving."

"See that you do,” Charlie replies. “And just so you know, MacKenzie and Will will be on the guest list next year, so you won’t be invited back."

"I understand. Thanks for ... having me," he says awkwardly.

“I’ll see you out,” Charlie says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Will. Don’t go anywhere.”

Charlie returns three minutes later and closes the door behind him.

"Now, back to more pleasant business, I hope - for my sake and the sake of your former staff."

"What's going on?"

"Jane's threatening to quit unless she can replace them."

"Who? Jim?"

"All of them."

"Why the hell would she want to do that?"

"Apparently, she's tired of feeling like she's always coming up short in comparison to you and she thinks an entirely new team won't have the same … _biases_ … shall we say."

"Well, I hope you told her to take a long walk off a short pier. She can't do that."

"I haven't responded to her e-mail yet but she Cced Reese and Leona and Leona is willing to do whatever she wants. Leona wants my decision by 11:30 tonight."

"Charlie, you can't let her fire the staff. Do you want me to talk to Jane? Try to make her see reason?"

Charlie snorts. "I don't think you're her favorite person, Will. I'm pretty sure that would have the opposite effect."

"Well, we can't let her do it. What are our options?"

"Funny you should ask,” Charlie says, clasping his hands and giving Will a mischievous grin. “You’re actually our best hope. Reese and Leona will happily ship Jane back to DC if they think it will mean a ratings boost when you're back in the chair."

"Did the lawyers sign off on it?”

“Just got off the phone with them before you came in and they did.”

Will sits back in his chair. To go back to NewsNight ... with MacKenzie, of course … that’s the best outcome he could possibly hope for.

“You sure you want me back?" he asks Charlie.

"I never wanted you to leave. And since I hear you've been entertaining other offers, I'm pretty sure I can get you a raise."

"What other offers? I've barely seen sunlight in six weeks."

"I told Leona you and MacKenzie have been talking to CNN about that new show they're putting together."

"Charlie, my loyalty is all to you."

"To ACN, you mean."

"No, to you,” he says, staring at him. “I owe you everything. If you want me back, and you think the thing with Jane's not going to bite us in the ass, of course I'll come back. As long as I can bring Mac with me. Let me go talk to her and see what she says."

"Okay, but don't wait too long. I have to call Leona in 30 minutes. We can start the paperwork tonight."

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll be right back.” He exits the room, gives an apologetic shrug of his shoulders to Jennifer when she attempts to intercept him, bounds up the stairs and knocks on the door to Charlie’s office.

“Who is it?” he hears Harriet say.

“Will,” he answers.

Harriet opens the door and Will rushes to MacKenzie’s side.

"What's wrong?" MacKenzie says in alarm. "Did you just run all the way up the stairs?" she says, staring at his red face.

"Nothing’s wrong and yes, I ran up the stairs," he says, bending down, putting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. "I just wanted to tell you ... Jesus, I'm out of shape. Just a second ..."

MacKenzie watches him, amused. "Honey, we've got to get you back on the treadmill."

"Yeah. Whatever. Listen," he says, standing up and putting both hands on her shoulders. "We might be back in business."

"What are you talking about?"

"There are two possibilities. One solid and one potential. The potential one's with CNN..." He outlines the show and her own potential role there and MacKenzie squeals with excitement. "If they offer it to you, you have to take it, Will. You have to. CNN has a much bigger audience than ACN. It's the perfect move."

"It's not a solid offer, honey, but the next one is. Jane wants to fire the staff at NewsNight - "

" _Who?_ ” she says, outraged.

"All of them."

“ _Why?_ ”

"Something about feeling like they're always comparing her to me."

"Well, of course they are, but surely they're not stupid enough to show it."

“I can’t say either way but she seems to think she can get a fresh start if she gets a new team."

"She can't do that!"

"She can't, but Reese and Leona can. And they're supporting her."

"Will, you have to talk to her. You have to let her know how good they are.” The faces of everyone on the team pass before her eyes. “Jim and Maggie and Neal and Kendra and, oh, Will, she _can't_. We have to stop her. What can we do?"

"We can save them if we agree to go back."

“Is that a solid offer? Charlie said we can definitely go back?”

“Yep; the lawyers can start working on our deal memos tonight.”

“That’s fantastic!” she says, launching herself at him and almost knocking him over. She peppers his face with kisses and the sheer exuberance with which she does so makes him laugh. He’s just about to kiss her in earnest when she pulls back from him, a look of horror on her face. "Oh, _Will_. What about Jim? I can’t take his job." When this was all in the abstract she thought she could ask Jim to step aside, but really, how can she? She'll never be able to look him in the eye again. No. Will is just going to have to learn to deal with it. "You’re going to have to go back without me," she says firmly.

He looks at her as if she’s just sprouted another head. “Forget it."

"Will,” she says, placing her hand on his arm. “I know you’d rather not but I promise: you’ll be fine with Jim. I’ll coach him. You’ll barely notice the difference.”

He snorts. “You’re joking aren’t you?”

She shakes her head.

“You’re not? Well, in that case, you need to have your head examined. I quit because I wasn’t fine with Jim. I'm not going back without you."

“I know how you feel, but I just …” she looks at him helplessly. “I can't do it to him. I couldn’t live with myself."

"But you can do it to me?"

“I’ll wait for you outside, Mackie,” Harriet interjects as she stands up to leave, trying to give them some privacy.

“You don’t have to, Harry. This’ll just take a minute,” MacKenzie replies over her shoulder.

“Okay,” Harriet replies uncertainly, sitting back down.

MacKenzie stares at Will. "You can take it. I’m not sure he can.”

“Are you high? I couldn’t take it. That’s why I quit.”

She sighs, exasperated. “Is this a test? Of my allegiance?"

"I think you just flunked."

"Are you seriously asking me to choose your comfort over Jim’s livelihood?”

"Since his name’s not on the marriage license, I’m kinda surprised I have to.”

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. There has to be another way."

"Nope. It's either you and me or they all get fired. Including Jim."

"Are you saying I'm the only EP you'll ever work with? For the rest of your life? If I'm pregnant, what's going to happen when I take maternity leave?"

"I can handle it if it's temporary."

"Well, what if I decide I don't want to go back to work after the baby's born?"

"Then I'll retire."

"Will, you can't make me responsible for your career. I have to be free to make my own decisions based on what's best for our baby - should there ever be one - and me and my career."

"So I come in fourth? Or is it fifth – after Jim? I think we have different ideas about how marriage works.”

“That’s not true. I just couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d taken Jim’s –“

“Think about this, then. If I take the job and you don’t, you’re going to have to find another one and Christ only knows where that’ll be. I’m not doing a long-distance marriage, Mac. I meant what I said when we got back together: I am not spending another night apart from you again. We live and work in the same city. Period.”

“I understand, but there has to be another way –“

“You’re not listening to me, MacKenzie,” he says, looking at her intently. “I _need_ you. I can’t do this show without you. And, as your soon-to-be husband, what I need and what our family needs has to come before anything or anyone else. I’m not saying what I need trumps what you need but so long as I’m not asking you to do to something heinous to him, I would hope to Christ it trumps what Jim needs.”

“I think causing someone to lose their job qualifies as something heinous.”

“Jesus Christ, he’s only had it for six weeks. That’s a try-out period.”

“You’re putting me in an extremely difficult position, Will. You’re asking me to knowingly harm someone I care about just to put you at ease. It’s not that you can’t do the show without me - it’s that you don’t want to.”

“You’re right: I don’t. And I won’t. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

It’s not that she can’t see Will’s point … she _can_ … because NewsNight is the show they built together. But how can she square that with deliberately hurting Jim? Then again, if Will sticks to his guns and refuses to come back without her, Jim will lose his job, anyway. Not to mention the rest of the team. She closes her eyes and sighs. She may not like it but she has no choice.

“I don’t like it, but since you’re forcing my hand, I’ll do it.”

He exhales softly, willing himself to speak gently.

“That’s not the way I want to go back, Mac. By forcing your hand.” He takes both her hands in his. “Honey, I know you feel responsible for Jim, but this is _our_ show. Yours and mine. Yes, he’s an integral part of it but it’s _ours_. And it’s not going to be nearly as good without you. You’re the visionary. You’re the one who inspires me and you’re the one I’m always trying to impress. If I’m not trying to prove something to you, I’m going to get lazy and bored and the show’s going to devolve into something you hate.”

“I’ll be watching from home, so you _will_ have me to answer to.”

“You forfeit your right to an opinion unless you're producing the show.”

“You’re saying I owe it to the American people to come back, is that it?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. “Okay, Billy, you’ve made your case. I’ll talk to him.”

He exhales with relief. “How about if we talk to Charlie and see if we can cushion the blow? He thinks he might be able to get me a raise, so how about if I siphon some of that off to Jim so he can stay at an EP’s salary?”

“And if Charlie can’t make that happen?”

“We’ll do it anyway. The other possibility is that Sloan told me they’re thinking of doing some sort of financial news show before NewsNight. Let’s go tell Charlie we’re in and ask him if he’d be willing to try Jim out at seven o’clock.”

“Okay.”

Harriet raises her eyebrows at them both and says cheerily, “Ready to go downstairs, then?”

“Yes,” MacKenzie tells her sister. They rejoin the party but Charlie’s nowhere in sight, so Will calls him on his cell phone.

“Will? Did you talk to MacKenzie?”

“Yes. Can we talk now? We’ll meet you in Nancy’s office.”

“Harriet,” MacKenzie says, turning to her sister. “Do you want to go mingle or stick with us?”

“I don’t want to be in the way …” Harriet says uncertainly. Sloan isn’t in plain sight and since she’s terribly shy, she doesn’t relish the thought of having to hide behind a planter until Will and MacKenzie rejoin the party.

“Come with us, then,” MacKenzie says, recognizing her sister’s dilemma. “Will, where’s Nancy’s office?

“This way,” he says.

He leads them to it and ushers them inside. Charlie joins them soon afterwards and Will starts to speak but Charlie cuts him off.

“MacKenzie, Will told me what happened with Mark. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Charlie. Everything’s fine.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Listen - Will told me about your offer and we’d like to come back but … is there some way we can cushion the blow for Jim? Sloan said you’re thinking about doing a new show at seven o’clock. Would you be willing to try him out as EP?”

Charlie thinks about it. He knows Will’s happiness is contingent upon MacKenzie coming back and hers is contingent on not hanging Jim out to dry. “Sure. We can do that.”

“Even if the other show doesn’t work out,” Will says, “We’d like to keep him at an EP’s salary. Is there a way for me to make up the difference without anyone knowing?”

“I’ll see what I can do but unless I can retroactively put it into his contract we might be opening ourselves up to a lawsuit if another senior producer finds out.”

“See what you can do, okay?” Will says.

“I will,” Charlie says, giving them a huge smile. “Welcome back, you two.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Will says, shaking his hand.

“Now. I have to call Leona and deal with Jane. Best not to say anything to anyone until the contracts are signed, etcetera.”

“Can I tell Jim that we’re coming back?” MacKenzie asks. ”I don’t want him to hear it from someone else. He won’t say anything to anyone.”

“You sure you can trust him on that?” Charlie says.

“I trust him with my life.”

“Okay,” Charlie agrees.

“I’ll just … be over there,“ she says, heading to the corner. She pulls out her cell phone and places a FaceTime call to Jim, who happens to be at his parents' place in Vermont.

"Happy New Year, Jim."

Jim peers at her curiously. She looks great, obviously all dressed up for New Year's Eve, but what the hell is she doing awake - and calling him - at this hour?

"Happy New Year, Mac. I didn't think you'd still be up. Isn't it after four in London?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not that old. And I'm in Connecticut. At Charlie's."

“Hi Jim,” he hears Charlie and Will say.

"Hi Charlie,” Jim says as MacKenzie pans across the room.

“Was that Will?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing in Connecticut? Why didn't you tell me?"

"No time to explain. Listen," she says, motioning to Charlie and asking if she can head into Nancy’s ensuite. He nods.

"Did you just go into the bathroom?" Jim asks as she tugs the door closed behind her.

"Yes. So we can have some privacy."

"What's going on?"

"Can you go somewhere quiet? I can hardly hear you over Barry Manilow."

"Sorry - my dad loves 'Mandy' ... Never mind."

He goes into his parents' bathroom.

"Are you in the bathroom now?"

"Yes. What can I do for you, Mac?"

"I've got good news and bad news."

"Let's hear the bad news first."

"Charlie just received an e-mail from Jane. She's tired of everyone comparing her to Will, so she wants to fire the staff."

" _What?_ "

"Yes. She's a monster."

"Maggie? Kendra? Neal? She can't do that!"

"And you, my friend."

"Whatever. I'm so tired of her bullshit I'd rather be unemployed."

"Well, I don't think that's necessary."

"... but the rest of them. Shit, Mac. What can we do?"

"Charlie thinks he can send Jane back to DC if Will agrees to come back."

"And does he? Agree?"

"Yes."

"That's fantastic, Mac. That's really good news."

"It is ... except for one thing."

"He doesn't want me as his EP. He wants you."

"Yes, Jimmy. I'm sorry."

"Is that what you want? To come back? I thought you wanted to settle in the UK."

"There's a difference between wanting to flee to a place and wanting to settle there. I'd like to come back to NewsNight."

"What about Will?"

"We've made our peace. I'll tell you all about it later."

"Okay. I appreciate you giving me the heads up. When do you start?"

"I don't know. Soon, I guess. But listen ... about your job -"

"Don't worry about it. I talked to someone from ABC last week. Sounds like there might be an opportunity over there."

"Don't take it. I mean, unless you want to. I want you as my senior producer.”

"What about Maggie? That's her job title now."

"We'll just have two senior producers, that's all. We'll make it work. I know that's technically a demotion but we might be able to keep you at the same salary and the demotion wouldn't necessarily be permanent. Charlie's trying to put together a financial news show to run before NewsNight and he's open to the idea of trying you out there as EP."

"The seven o’clock slot?"

"Yes."

"Who's the anchor?"

"He might offer it to Sloan or someone from downstairs. Nothing's set in stone. What do you say? Are you in?"

"Let me think about it, okay?"

"Of course."

Jim looks at her affectionately. "Everyone will be thrilled to have you back, Mac. We've missed you. We've even missed Will," he laughs.

"I'll be sure to tell him."

"How is he? You never called me back."

"Sorry about that. He's much better. I'll tell you all about it another time but right now we have to finish talking to Charlie. I'll tell you our start date when we know it. In the meantime, please don't tell anyone, especially Jane, that Will and I are coming back. The lawyers haven't signed off on it yet and it might make things sticky. Just pretend you know nothing."

"Okay, call me when you know more."

"I will. I love you, Jim. Happy New Year."

"Love you, too." She hangs up, feeling slightly guilty but happy overall: she’ll have what she’s wanted for the last six years, which is to be back in Will’s arms and in his ear.

Will, MacKenzie and Harriet re-join the party and make the rounds. It’s so close to midnight MacKenzie barely has time to catch up with Sloan before the countdown begins, at which point Will pulls her away mid-sentence. Heedless of Sloan’s indignant “Hey!” he dips MacKenzie down and stares into her eyes with a look she doesn’t recognize. Possession, maybe? As the clock strikes twelve, he presses a searing kiss to her lips that makes her knees wobble and her heart thud madly inside her chest. She returns the kiss passionately, carding her fingers through his hair to the cheers and catcalls of those around them. “Get a room!” Sloan calls. Charlie and Nancy and Harriet look on with affection while everyone else looks on with surprise as the most curmudgeonly and difficult anchor in the business reveals he has a heart after all … one that belongs entirely to the woman in his arms.


	17. Chapter 17

**January 1, 2013**

1:07 AM

_The hotel_

"Thank heavens that evening is over," MacKenzie says as she kicks off her heels. "It was torture. Except for the kiss, Billy. Yours, I mean. That was spine-tingling. I'd have fallen down if you hadn't been holding me up."

She gives him an indulgent smile as she caresses his cheek. "I am more than eager to return the favor, my sweet, sexy, brilliant fiancé, but right now I've got to get out of this outfit. Can you unzip me?"

She turns her back to him and he does as he's asked, albeit without comment. His non-response makes uneasiness bubble in her chest: ordinarily, he'd have responded to her expression of devotion in kind: he'd have wrapped his arms around her, kissed her passionately and let her know in no uncertain terms he returned her affection without reservation. In fact, asking him for help with her zipper wouldn't even have been required: by now, her gown would have been pooling at her feet.

She exhales softly when she feels his fingers skating across her bare shoulder. He does it instinctively, reflexively, without thinking - and she allows herself to be comforted by this small display of affection.

She has every intention of finding out what's bothering him, but since her first priority is getting out of the ridiculous corset, she leaves him to head into the bathroom. She spends a good sixty seconds undoing the hooks before tossing the offending garment into her bag and then she strips off the thong, suspenders, and stockings. _I'll blow his mind another time_.

She brushes her teeth, throws on the running shorts and t-shirt she'd planned to wear in the morning, and returns to find Will standing at the window, looking out over the city lights.

"Hey," she says, putting an arm around his waist. He puts an arm over her shoulder and starts to pull her near, but she steps in front of him instead, still sensing his disquiet.

"Everything okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About?"

He doesn't respond, can only think the words rather than give voice to them: _The 20 seconds I thought you were a willing participant in that asshole's scheme._ Indeed, the image is a moving picture that's on repeat rotation in his brain: in his mind's eye, she's standing there, eyes closed, obviously enjoying the asshole's attentions and for those 20 seconds, it's six years ago and the woman he loves, someone he believed to be a true friend, is betraying him.

The truly scary thing about undiscovered lies is that their discovery erodes one's very foundation.

Aloud, he answers: "What happened tonight. And going back to ACN."

"Want to talk about either one?"

"ACN's easier, so let's start there."

"Easier?" she says apprehensively. "Mind if we start with the harder one first? Otherwise, I'll be too busy thinking the worst to actually listen to your musings about ACN."

"Okay," he sighs, forcing himself to look directly into her eyes. _How to say this? Should I say this? Is it something that even needs to be said? Can't I just let sleeping dogs lie?_

 _They're not sleeping_ , his psyche counters. They're snarling and snapping and poised to pollute the well of happiness he's been drinking from for the last ten days, the well he’d been hoping would supply their household for the rest of his life. In the end, he decides he must tell her, so he takes her hand and leads her to the couch. He sits down and watches her almost sit in his lap only to decide against it. He doesn’t say anything but he’s inwardly grateful she made that choice: it's going to be hard enough to talk about what's bothering him without trying to do so when he’s feeling concussed … which her proximity always, _always_ does to him.

"I don't know what to do about it,” he tells her, “… or if there is actually anything I can do about it, but it's there and it's all I can think about. Well, not think about really - it's more like it's all I can feel."

"What do you feel?"

"I know you didn't want what happened to happen with ... asshole number two. I get that. But before I knew that, when I thought you were ... _into_ it ... I was flooded with all these feelings I thought I'd buried."

"Which ones?"

"Being duped. Being made a fool of. I know it wasn't your idea this time but knowing isn't helping: the feelings are still there."

"You assumed the worst. Automatically. Right?"

"Yep."

"I hate that I did that to you in the first place and I hate that tonight has opened up a space between us, but I suppose you're having a natural reaction to being cheated on. Maybe Dr. Habib has some tricks up his sleeve to help you deal with them. When are you seeing him?"

"Next Monday."

"Three days after the wedding. Are you feeling like you want to postpone it?"

"The wedding?"

"Yes. I don't want you to feel like you're obliged to marry me if you're not ready. We can make it the week after next, instead. If you decide that's still what you want."

 _How to make her understand?_ Of course, he still wants to marry her. He just needs to discharge these feelings.

"That _is_ what I want." She's looking at him expectantly, obviously trying to look unfazed, but her clenched fists are giving her away. He takes the hand nearest his thigh and gently inserts three of his fingers into the fist to loosen it. Then he spreads her fingers so they lay flat against his own palm. "That's not what this is about."

He skates his fingers across her palm, sending a current of electricity straight to her core. He feels it, too, because he can't be this close to her _without_ feeling it. _There it is again,_ he thinks. The sense that what's going on at the surface just doesn't fucking matter because below it they are deeply, irrevocably entangled. And because he has no choice when it comes to her, he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

 _Focus_ , he tells himself. He needs to get this out so they can move forward. _Okay. Okay_.

"I just don't know how to get rid of ... these ... residual feelings," he says, looking at her. "It's ... I really don't want to get into what happened with asshole number one, but I'm obviously still dealing with it, so ..."

"Maybe we should?" she says, forcing herself to unclench her other fist.

"Maybe we should." He turns toward her. "Look, Mac. You know I'm crazy about you, you know how much I love you, how much I want to be with you, etcetera, etcetera, so this is not about that. It's about the fallout from what happened the first time around."

She swallows hard. "I understand."

"So .. are you with me? You want to hash this out tonight or wait until morning?"

"Well," she says slowly. "I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know what you're thinking, so ... we might as well talk it through now."

"Okay," he says, closing his eyes as he tries to formulate his thoughts. He thinks a moment before opening them. "Okay. It's like this. You've never been cheated on but ... when it happens to you, you realize that everything you thought you knew about the person, every assumption you ever made about their character was a lie."

"Everything assumption you ever made about my character was a lie? Is that what you think? Even now?"

"No. Not everything. Obviously, it’s been six years, so I have a pretty good idea about where you stand on most things, and for the most part they’re consistent with what I thought I knew about you at the time, but … other things aren’t. Important things. Like what you’re capable of. I thought I knew then, but I was wrong.”

She’s silent, waiting for him to go on.

“When we were together before it never even occurred to me to wonder whether you were telling me the truth about why you didn’t want to spend the night. And even if it had occurred to me, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought because I didn’t think you were even capable of lying about something like that. Something that important. I knew … or thought I knew … that your morals, your ethics … wouldn’t permit it. But now I know the truth: you’re perfectly capable of being duplicitous when it suits you. You’re perfectly capable of looking me in the eye and lying. I’ve made peace with it, mostly, but it’s something about you I can never unknow.”

As he speaks, her eyes well with tears. “Go on.”

“And, yeah … some people say cheating is just sex and who the fuck cares that you were screwing asshole number one while you were screwing me, that you were fucking me one night and him the next. It's just one part of his body going into yours, no different than rubbing elbows or holding hands, right? Doesn't have to be any more significant than that. But that's not the part that's so destructive. It's the realization that not only couldn’t I trust you, I couldn't trust my own perceptions. I couldn’t trust my ability to interpret the world. Because you did something I _never_ would have thought you were capable of. And it shocked the hell out of me.”

"Does talking about it help?" she says. "Do you feel any better having gotten that off your chest?"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Mac - "

She puts her finger to his lips, shushing him.

"I know you're not. I _know_. I brutally hurt you. And you have every right to talk about what it did to you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says. "I want to hear whatever you want - or need - to say about it. We've never really talked about what happened. The only way through it is through it, right?"

"I think so."

“Okay. Tell me what you need to tell me.”

“Okay. I know you weren’t in love with me when … it happened … but there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to know.” He swallows hard before forcing himself to give voice to a question that has plagued him for years. “How could you do it?” he says quietly. His eyes are bright, and he looks so vulnerable, so hurt, it breaks her heart. “How could you look me in the eye and lie about the fact that you were fucking someone else when you knew, you _knew_ I was in love with you? You wouldn’t trample on the feelings of the most hardened criminal that way. So, what was it about me that made me unworthy of the same kind of consideration?”

Crap. This is not the way she expected this conversation to go. She’s not sure what she expected when she invited him to express his feelings but asking her to reveal her selfish motivations when she brutally hurt him wasn’t on the list.

“Nothing. _Nothing_. It was nothing about you, Will – nothing you did – or didn’t do – had anything to do with it. It was me. It was all me.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “It’s like I told you. On election night. I was using you to make him jealous.”

His expression tells her he's not going to let her off the hook. Not tonight. He wants – no, _needs_ \- to know the whole sordid story and he’s going to insist upon it.

“But you wouldn’t have used anyone else like that,” he pushes. “I _know_ you wouldn’t. Why was I unworthy of protection?”

She licks her lips, trying to gather her thoughts. She starts to speak and then stops. Finally, before she can stop herself once more, she forces herself to start unravelling the knot of who she was back then.

“You’re right," she says gently. "Under ordinary circumstances, I never would have done what I did … to you or to anyone else. There’s so much you don’t know about who I was when we started seeing each other, Will. I was so fucked up. I was drowning when I met you." They'd been introduced a few months after she'd been promoted to an executive producer position at ABC. "I’d been promoted into a position I was barely qualified for because my mentor dropped dead. I kept making mistakes – rookie mistakes – but there’s no room for error when you reach the big leagues. Everyone thought the only reason I’d been promoted was that I was having an affair with the news director.”

He’s heard bits and pieces of this story before but she’s never recounted it quite like this, so negatively. He’d known her experience at ABC hadn’t been great, but he’d never pushed her to tell him about it. He wishes now he had.

“I wasn’t having an affair with him. I _wasn’t._ He supported me because he saw something in me. Potential. But I kept making mistakes, so I was sure he was wrong about me.” She sighs. “Which made it easy for me - later - to dismiss your optimistic assessment of me as someone who was competent.”

He bristles at that. She _was_ competent. Six months after they’d started dating Charlie had hired her for NewsNight and the rest was history. Sure, she was green in some ways, but her instincts had more than made up for it. She knew where she was going, where the show ought to be going, and by God, she was going to take it there. But she’s talking about ABC now, not ACN.

“God, Will. It was horrible. I was terrified every second of every day. I hardly slept, I stayed up all night trying to prepare for the next day, trying to do whatever I could to prevent another fuck-up. I was out of my depth – and out of my head - for months. And then Brian – the only person keeping me tethered to reality – broke up with me. And suddenly, not only was I a colossal fuck-up at my job, I was also a colossal fuck-up as a girlfriend. Which could only mean that I had no redeeming qualities - professionally or personally. I was in free fall. And that’s when I met you.”

She hesitates. Should she reveal the truth about who she was then? If she does, will he accept it? Will it make him have second thoughts about marrying her? Then again, unless she’s willing to reveal the unvarnished truth, how can she possibly make him understand that what she did had absolutely nothing to do with him? And she _has_ to make him understand that. His own self-esteem requires it.

She’s no longer the same person she was then, and she hopes to Christ she can convince him of that. When she thinks back now to who she was at that time, even she can hardly believe it, so far removed was it from her true nature. She was in survival mode, simply existing, simply reacting to whatever stimulus came her way. Operating on the same moral plane as an amoeba. Not thinking rationally. Not thinking clearly. Not thinking _morally_. Not thinking, period. She was, quite simply, out of her mind.

She takes a deep breath. “Will, what I’m about to tell you isn’t pretty. But I need to tell you because I can’t have you believing - not for a single second - that what I did had anything to do with you. It didn’t. I’d have done the same thing to anyone.”

He exhales softly. “Okay.”

“I’m not proud of the way I behaved, and I don’t like to think it’s who I am, but as you say, I did it, so it must be. But I promise you: it’s not who I was before and it’s not who I am now. When I look back to how I was then, it’s as if I’m looking at a different person. I know it seems like an excuse but … so much of it was situational. I felt like I was losing my mind. Literally. I was drowning, Will. I could barely keep my head above water at work and when Brian left, I just ... lost it. So, when you hear what I’m about to say to you, will you try to consider it in that light?”

He nods.

“Okay. Here it is.” She swallows hard and forces herself to look into his eyes, mentally preparing herself to intercede if required.

“I was flattered when you asked me out, but truthfully … that’s as far as it went. You – the actual you – the man you are – didn’t enter into it. Didn’t even register, really. You were just there. A body.”

He winces but she forces herself to go on.

“Not that I wasn’t attracted to you. Not that I didn’t recognize how lovely you were, or how smart you were - certainly smarter than the show you were doing at the time. But beyond that, I really didn’t give you much thought.”

He swallows and nods.

“The truth is,” she says softly. “In the beginning, you were just someone who could help me forget about my shitty job, my shitty life and how shitty I felt about myself. You and I were dating but we hadn’t discussed being exclusive and honestly, for the first four months we were together …” She stops abruptly before forcing herself to continue. “I was obsessed with getting Brian back.”

He flinches as if she just slapped him. She reaches her hand out to touch his face, but he jerks it back and stares at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time. It’s even worse than he thought. She didn’t love him. She didn’t even _care_ about him. She was just using him. The whole time he’d been falling head-over-heels in love with her. God, he’d been a rube.

“Stop,” he exclaims. “I don’t want to hear this. I’m not ready to hear this.”

“Billy, please,” she says, her eyes welling with tears. Again, she reaches out to touch his face but he grabs her hand, pushes it away and gets off the couch. “That’s not the whole story," she cries. "Hear me out. Let me tell you the whole story. Please.”

He walks to the window and when she trails along behind and starts trying to rub soothing circles on his back, he shakes her off. “Don’t,” he says, moving to the far side of the window.

“Will, you have to hear the end of the story or we’re not going to make it. Do you hear me? We’re not going to make it. Please. I love you so much. Please let me finish it. Please.”

She’s right. They’re not going to make it. He’s about ready to pull the plug on the whole fucking thing because he never knew her at all. At _all_. And then he hears Habib’s voice in his head, telling him to stop and think. So, he forces himself to. He closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths and when he opens them again they’re cold and blue, but he nods at her curtly, giving her permission to resume her story.

Inwardly quaking, she forces herself to go on. “Somehow, somewhere along the way, Brian had become the barometer for my self-worth. If he didn’t love me, I was simply unlovable. And for that reason alone, I was desperate to get him back. He saw a picture of you and me in _Page Six_ one day, and he called. I hadn’t intended to use you to make him jealous but … when the opportunity fell into my lap, I took it.”

“How _could_ you?” he erupts. “You knew I was in love with you. You knew I thought we were happy. How could you do that to me?”

“I knew you had feelings for me,” she says slowly. “I didn’t know you were in love with me, but I knew you were smitten. And … here’s the thing. I didn’t know it then, but I figured it out in therapy later … I kind of held it against you. By then I was pissed at the world. Pissed at the wankers in my newsroom, pissed at Brian, pissed at myself … and pissed at you because well, you know that Groucho Marx saying, “I’d never want to belong to any club that would have me as a member”? That was it, to a T. You liked _me_? I figured you must have had a screw loose.”

He’s shaking his head incredulously at her but she doesn't give him a chance to respond. “You asked how I could do it. How I could look you in the eye and straight out lie to you. And I am telling you. It wasn’t easy. I felt sick about it. Nauseous. Every single time. And by the way, I don’t know how many times you think that was, but it was four. Four times. But that’s not the point. The point is that I told myself it didn’t matter if I was deceiving you because any day now, you were going to dump me, too. The second you found out what an incompetent, idiotic woman I was.”

His incredulity has now shifted to something resembling contempt and she can feel the bile rising in her throat. Heart pounding, she continues.

“And then something shifted.” She walks closer to him, coming to a stop a foot away from him. He’s so far away from her and she wants nothing more to fold herself into his arms, but she can’t now and she’s terrified she will never be able to again. _Stop it. You can’t think like that. You’ll finish your story and he WILL believe you. That is the only acceptable outcome and you will do whatever it takes – whatever it fucking takes – to make that happen._

She grabs his hand and he resists the urge to pull it away. “You and I went out to dinner one night and you said something funny and I couldn’t stop laughing and when I look back, I think that was the moment I saw you clearly for the first time. Not in the role I was asking you to play in my saga but as the man you really are: brilliant, loving, devoted, kind, hilarious, unbelievably handsome, a phenomenal kisser, lover, and friend. You were … and _are_ … spectacular, but until that moment, I’d never allowed myself to see it. I think I’d been too afraid of what I might feel. I remember the moment it happened. Clearly. You looked at me and my stomach turned a somersault. And all the tension I’d been carrying around for months just … dissipated. And that was it. That was the moment I fell in love with you. And all I could think was, how could I have been so blind not to have seen the most beautiful person who ever lived when he’s been right here in front of me the whole time? But I was blind, Will. _Blind._ And I am so, so sorry. I love you. I love _you,"_ she says fiercely. "You have to believe me.” 

“You used me. You didn’t give a single fuck about my feelings or what the discovery of your betrayal would do to me.”

“That’s not quite true but it may as well have been because it didn’t stop me. I was too desperate to reclaim my self-esteem.”

“At my expense.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

He’s so fucking angry he could hit something. _This_ is the woman he’s about to marry? Someone who doesn't give two fucks about his feelings? Someone who will throw him under the bus without a second thought? Just like tonight when she decided to go upstairs with asshole number two against his wishes. Just like she was willing to do when she threatened not to go back to ACN because of Jim. What the fuck is he supposed to do with this information?


	18. Chapter 18

_Accept her explanation or cut her loose_ , his mind replies.

"And yet you expect me to believe you _love_ me?" Will says incredulously. "That you _care_ about me? After what happened then? After what happened _tonight_?”

“What happened tonight?" MacKenzie says.

“You chose asshole number two over me and you even threatened to choose _Jim_ over me, which doesn't exactly make me feel like I can depend on your concern for my feelings.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t choose Mark over you. I chose you!”

"You went upstairs with him, even though I asked you not to."

"I thought it was the best way to defuse the situation. And despite what happened, I still don't think your jealousy was sufficient reason for me to stay down." 

"So ... my feelings don't matter. Unless you happen to think they're justified." 

She pauses, considering what he said.

"I suppose I can see what you're saying," she says slowly. "If it didn't really matter one way or the other, why not come down on the side that made you feel better?"

" _Exactly_. You chose him over me. In that moment, you did. And then you minimized what he did, acted like it was unimportant, even though he assaulted you. I wanted to call the police, but you downplayed it. Made excuses for him, thereby choosing him over me _again_. And then you wanted to choose _Jim_ over me. If he wasn't happy, you said you wouldn't come back. Even though you _know_ how much I need you. How am I supposed to interpret those things? If we stay together, am I ever gonna be first on your list?"

" _If_ we stay together?” she gasps. “Do you want to break up with me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I will _not_ go through life coming in dead last on my wife’s list of priorities.”

“You’re not last on my list! You're the most important person in my life. I think maybe I'm just in the habit of downplaying things I'd rather not deal with. I'm sorry. You're right. I'll be more cognizant of that in the future. What can I do? What can I do to get us back on track?"

“I don’t know,” he says, starting to pace. “I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do.” He stops abruptly and stares at her. “You’re cold, MacKenzie. And I don’t know if I can tie myself to someone who’s got ice in their veins.”

“I’m _not_ cold, Will! I’m not! I was out of my mind back then!”

“Anyone who could do what you did _is_ cold. Heartless. Ruthless.”

“So, you believe unethical behavior always comes down to character, right? Well, it doesn’t. You can ask Dr. Habib. Good people can make unethical choices under the right circumstances. The question is whether you believe I’m essentially a good person.” She walks over to where he’s standing and takes his hands. “Listen to me. I never did anything remotely similar to what I did to you before or since and I will never do it again. And if you reject me based on what happened eight-and-a-half years ago, you’re saying you don’t believe people can change. That you don’t think anyone deserves a second chance. That you think people make one mistake and that should be it for them. For life.”

“You didn’t make a mistake. You made a conscious decision to fuck. me. _over_. And what happened tonight proved you’re still doing it. And I don’t think I can trust you not to do it again.” 

“I tried to downplay what happened with Mark and Jim so I wouldn’t have to deal with it, but that is _not_ the same thing as cheating on you!” 

“It’s not exactly the same thing, no. But it all comes from the same place. What I feel doesn’t matter to you.” 

“It _does_.” 

“Your actions prove otherwise.”

“They don’t!”

“They do.”

“Billy, what can I do?”

“I don’t know. Give me some kind of proof.”

“Proof of what? That I love you? That I won’t betray you again?”

He nods.

“How?”

“I don’t know. But you need to do something or it’s over.” 

She gasps. “What do you want me to do?”

He doesn’t know what the fuck he wants her to do, or what the fuck she _can_ do, but he needs to know she’s not going to screw him over again. He won’t be made a fool of. He won’t. He won’t go through life being last on her list, either. Why did he have to fall in love with someone who can’t be trusted? He’s in love with her, no question, but is he in love with the real her or the woman she pretends to be? Suddenly, he’s enraged. Why did she have to pop back up in his life again and dangle perfect happiness in front of his nose only to snatch it back with her crappy story?

“I don’t know that there’s anything you can do but I am _thisclose_ to walking out that door. So, if you don’t want that to happen, you need to do something. _Now_ ,” he says angrily. “Give me a way to accept your explanation that lets me feel like I’m not a fucking tool for doing it.”

Her mind, overcome with panic, is a complete blank. Jesus Christ, what can she say to him? _What?_

“I don’t know how I can prove it to you. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.” 

He shakes his head and picks up his wallet and keys off the dresser where he put them.

“What are you _doing_?”

“I’m getting another room.” MacKenzie’s eyes widen in shock. “I’ll stay there until you go back to the UK,” Will says, unable to look at her. “I’d appreciate it if you and Harriet are gone by the fourth. Under the circumstances, I don’t think both of us should go back to ACN. If I don’t, everyone loses their jobs, so I think I should be the one to go back. I’ll find another EP.”

He heads for the door, but she plants herself in front of him before he can open it. After everything they’ve been through, he’s going to do _this_? Oh, _hell_ no.

“How _dare_ you?” she says, getting right in his face. “How _dare_ you try to give up on us?” 

“I’m not trying. It’s done. You left me no choice. Now, get out of my way.”

“If you don’t want the headline in tomorrow’s paper to read “Will McAvoy in hotel brawl with ex-girlfriend,” you’d better sit the fuck down and listen to me.”

“MacKenzie –“

“Sit. Down. On the couch. _Now_. Or so help me, God, I will make you sit.”

He rolls his eyes, returns to the couch and looks at her with contempt.

“And you can wipe that expression off your face because the only thing it proves is that you’re an idiot who doesn’t appreciate a good woman when he has one.”

She follows him to the couch and sits down hard in his lap. 

“Hey!” he exclaims. “Get off me.” 

“No. This is _my_ spot and you are not taking it away from me. Ever again.”

She loops her arms around his neck and places her forehead against his. He resists the urge to grab her by the shoulders and forcibly move her to his side.

“Listen to me, Billy,” she says, pulling back to look at him. “We have an extraordinary connection. An extraordinary _bond_. And I am not letting you throw it away again. We have come too far to implode over something that happened _eight-and-a-half fucking years_ ago. No way. Not on my watch.”

“Then prove it to me,” he says again. “Prove to me that you love me. Prove to me that I can trust you.”

“How? The only way I can do that is by being dependable, consistent and reliable. Which, by the way, I _have been_ for the last three years! I fully intend to keep on being that way, but obviously, it’s going to take more than one night to convince you!”

“Guess we’re screwed, then.”

“What else can I do?”

”Nothing. Let it go.”

“I can’t. You mean too much to me.”

“I wish that were true.”

”It is. Let me show you, then. We can go to bed.”

"Forget it.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. You think I’m just some dumb male who can be railroaded into submission with sex?”

“You asked me to prove it and that’s the only way I can think of. I love you, Will. Let me show you.”

“Spare me. I’m already intimately acquainted with your ability to feign devotion while fucking someone else on the side.”

“You bastard.”

“Are you going to deny it?”

She’s silent.

“Didn’t think so.”

He’s in full-on asshole mode, and she knows he’s trying to force them over a line they won’t be able to get back over but there is no line over which he can take them that she _won’t_ cross back over. And she’ll do whatever it takes to drag him back over it with her, kicking and screaming if need be.

She leans her head against his forehead again and considers her options.

 _What is she up to?_ he thinks. He’s going to have to forcibly move her if she doesn’t move soon but he doesn’t want it to get to that point. Still, if he doesn’t leave now, he knows it’s just a matter of time before she wears him down and he can’t let that happen. He knows now, without a shadow of a doubt, that she can’t be trusted. She’s colder than he ever thought possible. And it makes him sick.

“MacKenzie, get off me,” he says roughly.

“No.”

“You’re not going to change my mind.”

She pulls back to look at him. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she says before pressing her forehead against his once more.

“MacKenzie,” he says more firmly this time. “Get. _off_. me.”

“No. I am not letting you give up on us over something that happened nearly a decade ago.” She pulls her head back to look at him again. “Call Dr. Habib. He’ll help us get through this.”

“I don’t want him to help us get through this. I’ve made up my mind.”

He’s not listening and he’s going to leave and she’s run out of options, so she does the only thing she can think of. It’s a low blow, but what else can she do to distract him? She slides her hand down his shoulder, under his armpit and starts tickling him.

“ _Knock it off_ ,” he growls, grabbing her by the shoulders, forcing her onto her back and pinning her to the couch. He hovers over her and she takes this opportunity to loop her arms around his neck once more.

“Listen to me, you goose,” she says, “I _love_ you. I have spent the last eight years proving you can trust me – “

He tries to interrupt but she cuts him off.

“Yes, _eight_. We keep saying three, but I’ve been completely devoted to you from the moment I fell in love with you and that’s eight. So, don’t you dare try to hang me for a crime I committed nearly a decade ago. I’m not the same person I was then. Just like you’re not the same person you were when you bought the ring. We’re different people now. _Both_ of us.”

And just like that, he can feel himself reaching for the lifeline she’s throwing him. He _is_ a different person now than he was when he bought the ring. Maybe that means he can believe her, too? Maybe she _has_ changed? But what about everything that happened tonight? Is he prepared for a lifetime of coming in last? She says she’ll be more cognizant in the future, but will she?

He _wants_ to believe he can count on her. He _wants_ to believe he can trust her, but can he?

“Please. Let me show you,” she whispers.

But he’s not ready to give in just yet. He’s still too angry.

“What did I just tell you?”

“It’ll cut through the crap, Will. You know it will. Then we can talk some more.”

He still wants her. He wants their future back. But he’s still so fucking angry.

“I don’t think you’d like the way I’d make love to you tonight.”

“I don’t care."

“You say that now, but you will.”

“Why? Do you want to hurt me?”

“No. But I might. I’m so fucking angry right now I wouldn’t trust myself not to.”

“I can do angry sex.”

He shakes his head. “No. I can’t risk it.”

“Talking’s not going to do a damned thing to get us past this, Will, but making love will.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. I know you. And you won’t.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“I do.”

He already knows his life is shit without her, so what other choice does he have, really, besides letting her try to convince him? If she can, he can have what he needs. His eyes are cold and blue and he’s nowhere near giving her the look that warms her heart, but she’s certain he will be as soon as she can erase the crap from this evening.

And that’s exactly what she intends to do. She lifts her head to kiss his lips and is surprised but undeterred when he forces his tongue into her mouth. She knows he’s simply trying to let her know that she has _not_ been forgiven, so she responds in kind, forcefully sucking his tongue and nipping at his lips as he presses himself hard against her.

Abruptly, he pulls back, gets off the couch and extends a hand to her. “Let's go,” he commands her.

She gets up, follows him into the bedroom and orders him to strip and get into bed, which he does. He pulls the blankets over his body and while he’s busy with that, she picks up his pants and sprints into the next room. He bolts out of bed and follows her but before he can intercept her she runs into the bathroom, slams the door behind her and locks it.

“MacKenzie!” he says, pounding on the door. “Give me my pants!”

“I’m just putting your wallet and keys in the safe,” she calls. “One can’t be too cautious these days.”

Thank heavens she knows the combination, having set it up earlier. She opens it, digs through Will’s pants pockets, retrieves his wallet and keys and throws them inside the safe next to her own wallet and passport. Then she closes the door and locks it. _Whew._ He won’t be going anywhere until she feels like telling him the combination, which is Jim’s cell phone number. It contains two numbers she’s always transposing but since she remembered them correctly just now, she’s confident she’ll remember them again when she needs to. She feels slightly guilty about what she’s done, but she can’t let him leave. Not while their future hangs in the balance.

She cautiously opens the door and he’s waiting for her, steam practically coming out of his ears. She hands him the pants which he takes without comment.

“What’s the combination?” he asks her.

She considers giving him the wrong one but decides to tell him the truth since lying is no longer an option.

“I’ll tell you after we hash this out.”

“Tell me now.”

“No. And for the record, I considered giving you the wrong combination but decided against it because I meant what I said about never lying to you again. Which I can see now is going to prove to be very inconvenient.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” he says sardonically. “Tell me the combination.”

“Promise you won’t leave.”

“Ever?”

“Unless it’s a mutually-agreed upon decision.”

“What if we never agree?”

“Then I guess we’re stuck.”

“MacKenzie –“

“Please. I’m not going to lose you twice in this lifetime. The first time nearly killed me, and I know it nearly killed you. So, what are we doing? Didn’t we promise to stop living in the past?”

“Past behavior predicts future behavior.”

“Not always. Not if the person learns their lesson. Not if the person has changed. I have. And I know you have. So, let’s move forward together and just be happy. Sickeningly happy. Which we were, five hours ago. Nothing has changed since then. _Nothing_. Everything we thought was real then _was_. What’s happening now is not. We’re just borrowing trouble.”

He wants to believe but he can’t. Not yet. Still, he accepts her hand when she extends it to him.

“I’m still angry,” he says.

“I know. I can help you with that.” 

He shakes his head at her, climbs into bed and scoots over to make room for her. Then he watches, with glazed eyes as she very slowly and very deliberately takes her t-shirt off, revealing absolutely nothing underneath, which makes his erection even more painful than it already is. She starts to take off her running shorts and pretends to drop something so she has to bend down. This is altogether too much for Will so he hops out of bed, grabs her around the waist and tugs her shorts down, revealing her glorious, naked form.

“Get in,” he commands, pointing to the bed. She does, lays back and extends her hand to him. He takes it and can’t help kissing it. Then he’s in bed beside her and swinging a leg over her. His mood is reminiscent of the night they got back together but not quite the same. She can sense no conflict in him now. Only surliness and anger. Is she willing to sully something sacred – their sex life - with anger?

_Absolutely. If it will get them back on track._

He nudges her legs apart with his knee. “I can't be a gentleman tonight,” he tells her. “I need -”

“What do you need?” she says, stroking his shoulders.

“I need to come. And at this particular moment, I don’t give a fuck if you do. If you want it, you're going to have to get there yourself.” Once again, though, his sweet kisses (though involuntarily bestowed), belie his harsh words. She returns the kiss, carding her fingers through his hair. “Ah, so we _are_ doing angry sex. I’m intrigued. Do what you need to do, then. You can make it up to me later.”

Without warning, he plunges into her, making them both gasp. Luckily, the activities of the last ten days have conditioned her body to receive him easily at a moment’s notice and for his part, he can’t help thinking that even though they’re at war, this is, as it has always been, right. And, no matter how angry he is or how terrified he is of being duped, he can’t help pressing delicate kisses against her lips, her cheeks, her eyes and every bit of skin within reach because this is, after all, _MacKenzie_ , the love of his life, the woman who means more to him than anything or anyone else.

He resists looking into her eyes for as long as he can because he knows all too well that will be his undoing, but when she grabs his head and forces him to focus on her ("Look at me, Billy. _Look_ at me.”), he has no choice but to do as she asks. And when he does, it’s impossible not to be in love with her, or to feel the powerful bond that pulses between them, or to silently plead with the universe to cough up some way - _any_ way - he can believe her. The tell-tale tingling starts in his spine and suddenly, he's desperate to finish this, desperate to finish inside her, desperate to claim her as his own because he needs her and the promise of their future together and the only way he's ever going to get either of those things is if she promises to forsake all others. “You belong to _me_ , MacKenzie,” he says fiercely. “Nobody else. _Ever_. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she murmurs as she wraps her legs around his ass. “Let it go, Billy. Let it go.”

He grabs the back of her head and forces his tongue into her mouth as he goes over the edge and she follows, crying “I love you” into his mouth as she pulls him down hard against her. Panting, he raises his head to look at her. “Say it again,” he says harshly. “Make me believe it.” And once again, despite his harsh words, he's powerless to resist the force that compels him to lean in and kiss her before she can respond.

He pulls back to look at her. Although tempted to be teasing and cavalier, she's far too emotional and terrified by the prospect of losing him to say anything but what's in her heart. "I adore you, Billy,” she whispers, tears pricking at her eyes as she strokes his hair and kisses him. "With all my heart. There are no words to express how much. You mean everything to me. Everything. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if you'll only let me."

Her words bring a lump to his throat. Not only because wants to believe her, but because no one in his entire life has ever made him feel so loved. Which is one of the reasons her original betrayal had nearly destroyed him. He'd _believed_ her. Felt, for once in his life, that someone truly had his back. It had been such a novel feeling, so purely exhilarating. When he found out she hadn't, had indeed been twisting the knife in his back at least part of the time she'd been whispering sweet nothings in his ear, he'd been devastated. Torn apart.

His expression is guarded and conflicted. He _wants_ to believe her. He _wants_ to, but how can he? In the end, anger and fear win out. “You’d better be telling the truth because if I ever find out you’re lying about this or anything else I will never forgive you. Do you hear me? Never.”

She is, as usual, seemingly unperturbed by his harsh words. Indeed, her eyes remain soft and affectionate. “Shhhhhh,” she whispers, kissing him and stroking his hair. “Everything’s okay. You're safe with me. I promise. Everything we have is real. I love you, Billy. I love you.”

The tone of her voice and the tenderness of her touch, so soothing, so loving, makes tears spring to his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

She’s in love with both sides of Will: the virile, animal, magnificent man whose reason must be reached by circuitous routes, and the gentle one, whose entire body is now pleading for reassurance. She offers it to him with outstretched hands, bringing his face to hers to give him a long, soulful kiss meant to assuage his fears and erase all doubts: it’s slow and tender, beautiful and blinding, and it reminds him of how far they’ve come in the last three years.

There are moments when he’s frightened by the way she has invaded him. No woman has ever given him the latitude she has. No one has ever indulged him as she does—inviting him to go ahead, do what he will, to venture anything. He adores her for that. Is he really willing to throw that away in a fit of pique?

They remain silent, lost in their own thoughts, until he reaches for her again. And this time, he is infinitely tender with her. He knows the tricks of her body better than she does, and his aim never misses its mark. Every stroke of his body against and into hers causes an electric charge to surge through her. She's feverish, full of him. And when it’s all over, after he’s ripped a volley of words and half-finished phrases from her throat, he pulls away, amazed at the depth of his feeling for her. They are one, soldered together, and all his happiness is in her hands. He is entirely dependent on her ... and more than a little ashamed by his earlier barrage of angry words ( _God, I’m an asshole_ ).

"Are you alright?” he whispers.

“Yes,” she says, pulling him down to cover her more fully, to press her into the mattress. She's overwhelmed, dazed. She’s floating too high just now to care that nothing has been settled or that there’s a question mark looming over their relationship. He inhabits her, she inhabits him, and somehow, they’ll get where they need to be.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

She reaches up to stroke his hair. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry I was such a ..."

"Dick?"

"…earlier. Yeah. A dick. Did I hurt you … before?"

"No."

“I’m glad,” he says, angling his body off her to lie awkwardly at her side. Although they’ve only been back together ten days, the six inches between them feels completely foreign, like a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon has suddenly opened up between them. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can be a real prick sometimes, and I’m sorry.”

She understands, and she doesn’t fault him for it. At least not in the way she might if she didn’t know that hitting back hard was a defense mechanism hard-wired in childhood, an innocent’s defense against a cruel world. At the same time, she thinks, _What nonsense. What perverse, idiotic nonsense_. He insists on saying the reverse of what he feels and means because beneath his violent words is a quivering romantic - a man trying to demolish a power he knows is greater than his own. She recognizes it for what it is and knows it’s not worth getting angry about: she loves him anyway, with all his defects.

Despite that, or because of that, she rouses herself long enough to say what needs to be said. “Look, Will,” she says, taking his hand. “I know you don’t mean 95% of the crap that comes out of your mouth when you’re angry. It doesn’t bother me because I know what's really going on and I don’t take you seriously. Perhaps to my own detriment. But I’m an adult, with an adult’s ability to see beneath the surface. You cannot behave that way in front of a child –”

He tries to interrupt, but she squeezes his hand, stopping him. “Listen, I know you have your doubts about us right now, but I don’t. And we’re going to get through this. Which means there will be children in our future.”

“You think I'd say those things to a child?”

“No. But you might use that tone of voice with me or say something cutting while they’re listening. And you can’t. I won’t tolerate it. Because I don’t want our son or daughter to grow up thinking it’s okay to speak to anyone in that manner or to be spoken to in that manner. How would you like it if they grew up thinking it was normal for their partner to speak to them that way?"

"I wouldn't."

"Neither would I. So, you need to figure out a way to deal with your anger that doesn’t involve trying to decimate the person on the receiving end.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Right now, though, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.” She brings his hand up and kisses it. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

They're silent for a moment, each of them unwilling to reveal their own private thoughts. She's wondering what he's thinking and he's trying to understand exactly what it is about tonight’s revelations that have poisoned every aspect of his trust. In the end, he thinks it comes down to this: they’d slept together a month after their first date and from that moment on, they’d practically lived in each other’s pockets. She’d spend three nights a week at his place and he’d spend one or two at hers and though she’d had her good days and bad, there had never been any hint she’d been unhappy with him. None. She’d been free with her affections, calling him three times a day, every day – how the hell did she even find the time to screw around behind his back? It blows his mind to think the entire time she was introducing him to the stupid slipper sock routine, planning weekend getaways with him to the Catskills, and helping him shop for Christmas presents for his family she’d been obsessed with getting back with her ex.

“I don’t know what to do, Mac,” he says carefully. “I always assumed your hookups were drunk dials. I never thought they were premeditated. We spent four or five nights a week together. Talked on the phone three times a day. Yet, the whole time you were secretly trying to get him back? I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I wasn’t plotting the entire time," she tells him. "And our encounters _were_ mostly the result of drunk dials. I don’t know how to explain it, Will - and I can’t justify it - but everything was falling apart, and it somehow seemed … imperative – vital to my self-esteem ... that he want me back.”

“Why didn’t I know things were falling apart? You were always sunny - hell, you were downright cheerful. I had no idea things were that bad.”

“I was ashamed. You were so much higher on the food chain than I was, and I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to let on.”

He believes she’s telling the truth right now, but it makes absolutely no sense to him.

“I hear what you’re saying, but it terrifies me that you could be so cold-blooded … I don’t care what the circumstances were. And, fine, let’s say you _have_ changed, that you’ll never do it again. I can accept that intellectually, but it’s a lot harder to get there emotionally when all my alarm bells are going off.”

He turns on his side to face her, propping himself on one elbow to look at her. He can see the apprehension in her eyes, along with the frustration, and he knows she’s just as tired of revisiting the past as he is. Unfortunately, it’s a place to which they can’t seem to stop returning. He can’t, certainly. But he wants to. And so, he says, “Let’s just say … for the sake of the argument … that I’m willing to think you’re not going to screw me over again. How do I get to the point where I actually feel it?” And that’s what this is: it’s the feeling he can’t shake, the constant tension of being on high alert.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Are you willing to try?”

“I am, but I don’t know how.” He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock on the bedside table. Suddenly, he’s bone-tired. “It’s after three. How about if we table this discussion until morning? We can talk over breakfast.”

“Do you still want to break up with me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to put myself in your position and no matter how I slice it, I just keep coming back to this: no matter how sleep-deprived or miserable I was at my job, I can’t imagine what it would take for me to look the person I was seeing in the eye, someone I knew was crazy about me, and lie about where I was spending the night. I couldn’t do it, and the fact that you could is … just ... shocking to me.”

“I don’t know what to say, Will. I told you why I did it. It wasn’t because I wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” he says. “Look, Mac. You know I love you – you know that. I just don’t know how to trust someone who could be that duplicitous.”

Exhausted and suddenly all-too-aware that this may be one mountain that’s too high to climb, her face crumples.

“Listen,” he says, reaching his hand out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t made up my mind yet … I’m trying, I’m _trying_ to find a way out of this because I love you, but right now I’m stuck. I’m hoping things will look better in the morning.”

“And if they don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s get some sleep, okay? We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Alright,” she relents, sniffling. She tentatively reaches out her hand to touch his bare shoulder, and because he's powerless against her, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. She buries her face in his chest and he buries his face in her hair.

“Will?” she says, pulling her head back to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“The night we got back together … you said you would do whatever it takes to make this work. Are you going to keep that promise?”

He sighs. “MacKenzie –“

“You promised.”

“You’re right. I did. I’ll do whatever I can, yes.”

“No. Whatever it _takes_. There’s a difference.”

“Mac, I’m exhausted, and this conversation is too important for me to have when I can barely keep my eyes open, so can we just talk about it tomorrow?”

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I love you.”

He’s silent for a moment before he replies. “I love you, too.”

She lays very still and forces herself to remain quiet, with thoughts rushing through her head like a cyclone. _What can I do? What can I do?_ She has at most, four hours to come up with a way to convince him.

He needs to find a way to trust her, which will require evidence. Irrefutable proof that under the right circumstances, good people can behave badly. So, as soon as she feels him drop off to sleep, she quietly disentangles herself from his arms and gets out of bed. Then she shrugs on a robe she finds in the closet, grabs her laptop and takes it to the farthest end of the suite. Relieved to discover ACN hasn’t locked her out of her LexisNexis and PsycARTICLES accounts, she searches for newspaper, magazine and peer-reviewed journal articles that support her claim. She finds several asserting that situational trauma can trigger bad behavior and sends them to the printer in their suite.

_Will it be enough?_

_What if it isn’t?_

_What else can I do?_

She picks up the sheaf of papers from the printer, staples each article together and sets the stack on the table in the living room. Then she sits down on the couch and rubs her fingers tiredly across her eyes. Now what? Is her only option to wait on tenterhooks until Will decides her fate? Surely there must be something more she can do.

 _Proof_ , she worries, biting her nails. Proof. He needs proof. _How the hell am I going to give him that?_

And then something occurs to her: _she_ may not be able to give it to him, but there is someone out there who might. Someone who could offer – if not proof – then valuable insight into her behavior:

Dr. Habib.

Dr. Habib would be more convincing than a stack of papers. She can call _him_. He’d given her his cell phone number at her appointment, telling her to call if she needed anything, so that’s what she’ll do. She knows being so presumptuous will likely piss Will off, but at this point, what other choice does she have?

She looks at her watch: 4:55. She knows she should wait until a decent hour to call, but what if Will wants to end things as soon as he wakes up? She wrestles with her conscience for a few moments but decides that she, too, has to be willing to do anything to get them back on track, including disturbing someone else’s sleep. With any luck, Dr. Habib is an early riser. Unable to wait any longer, she dials when the clock strikes five. He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Jake Habib,” he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Dr. Habib,” she whispers into the phone. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, but this is MacKenzie McHale. We met just before the holidays. I’m a … friend of –“

“Will’s,” he says, sitting up in bed. “Is he alright?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “But we have a problem and I was wondering if there’s any way we could see you today. As soon as possible. I know it’s a holiday, but we’d pay your after-hours rate, of course. It’s very important.”

“Did something happen?”

“Yes. Will and I got back together the day I saw you -"

"That’s fantastic," Dr. Habib exclaims, unable to help himself. _Will must be overjoyed,_ he thinks.

“Yes. It has been. It's been beautiful – amazing,” she says, her voice catching, "But it all fell apart last night when we got into a huge argument.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story but … if I can’t come up with a reason for him to trust me, I think there’s a very good chance he’s going to call off our wedding, which is the day after tomorrow –”

“You’re getting married? On Thursday?”

“We’re supposed to – I don’t know what’s going to happen now. We tried talking it through last night, but things got heated – we can’t seem to have a rational conversation about the past.” She twists the phone cord around her fingers so tightly it dents her skin, but the dull ache is a welcome distraction from what she’s actually doing (bringing another party into this mess, someone who may, in fact, hold an opinion contrary to her own) and what she’s saying ( _We’re falling apart, please help us_ ). “I don’t know what to do or how to convince him. I was hoping you could … I don’t know … guide us so we could have a civilized discussion. I know he respects your opinion and I would really appreciate having a neutral party nearby.”

“Does he know you called me?”

“No, he’s asleep.”

“MacKenzie, this puts me in an awkward position. I don’t think he’ll take kindly to being ambushed.”

“Please – I think his mind is made up – or close to being made up - and if you could just give him – look, I don’t even know whose side you’d come down on, but I’m not the same person I was before, and I would never betray him again. He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m cold-hearted, which I was then, but it was because of the situation I was in - not because I’m a horrible person. Please. I’ll pay … quadruple your rate – any rate, really. It’s just that we’ve come so far in the last ten days. I can’t lose him again.”

He sighs. “Okay,” he says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “Let me think. I have to be somewhere at nine and I’m busy this afternoon but ... we could meet early this morning. My office is closed because of the holiday, so I can’t meet you there; are you at Will’s place?”

“No – we’re at a hotel. In Manhattan.” She gives him the name of the hotel.

“Okay, that’s actually near where I have to be at nine. I can be there by 6:30. I know that’s early, but it sounds like you've got a lot to talk about.”

“We do. 6:30 would be perfect. Thank you. I’ll leave word downstairs for them to let you up. We’re in the penthouse suite, room 1828.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. Please tell Will I’m coming.”

“I will.”

She hangs up and tries not to think about just how pissed Will is going to be when he discovers she’s invited Dr. Habib to weigh in. Then again, she reminds herself, she wouldn’t have to take such desperate measures if he would just listen to reason.

She’s exhausted but she doesn’t dare risk climbing back into bed with Will lest he insist on having this conversation before 6:30, so she sets her phone alarm and lays down on the couch to try to sleep for half an hour. She feels a bit more human when she awakens and decides she should arrange for breakfast and coffee to be here when Dr. Habib arrives.

She calls room service and orders bacon and eggs for Will, yogurt and fruit for her, pastries for Dr. Habib and coffee – lots of coffee - for everyone. Although riddled with apprehension, she’s fortified by the knowledge that a potential ally (though there’s certainly no guarantee) is on the way - someone who might be able to provide some insight into her then-tortured psyche - insight that will hopefully convince Will that breaking it off is precisely the wrong thing to do.

She takes a quick shower and when she comes out, she’s dismayed to discover she doesn’t have anything to wear: Nancy must have taken her change of clothes for the charity along with Will’s, which means she can either wear the robe (too hot), last night’s evening gown or the t-shirt and running shorts. Unfortunately, she can’t wear the shirt without a bra (not in front of Dr. Habib, anyway), and since the bra also seems to be missing ( _Did I forget to pack it?_ ), she’s left with the dress. Unable to bear the thought of getting into it, she fumbles around in the bag and plucks out Will’s last shirt, a blue button-down that precisely matches the color of his eyes. He’ll have to make do with his t-shirt. She shrugs the shirt on, along with the running shorts she’d worn yesterday.

She waits in the living room, dreading the moment she’ll be forced to reveal her scheme to Will. She decides to wait until the last minute (no need to give him a head start), so at 6:20 she gets to her feet, takes a deep breath and walks toward the bedroom.

She pauses when she hears the elevators open. _Breakfast already?_

She grabs the $10 bill she got from the safe after her shower and turns around to hand it to the person conveying their breakfast and is surprised to see Dr. Habib. He stops when he sees her, a surprised expression on his face, and when she looks down, she can see why: her shorts are so short he must think she’s not wearing any pants.

Blushing, she extends a hand to him and he shakes it. “Dr. Habib. Thank you so much for coming. Forgive my attire – there was a mix-up with our suitcase and I had to borrow one of Will’s shirts. I _am_ wearing pants – but they’re short. _Shorts_. God, never mind. Won’t you sit down?” she says, motioning to the couch.

“Thank you,” he says, sitting down. “Does Will know I’m here?”

“Not yet. I was just going to wake him when I heard you come in. I’ll be right back.” She turns back towards the bedroom and startles again when she hears Will’s voice coming through the door.

“Mac, I know you don’t want me to leave, but did you have to hide my pants, too?”

“I didn’t hide them,” she calls, trying to open the bedroom door. “I put them on the chair by the dresser. And don’t come out unless you’re wearing them!”

“Why?” he replies. “You’ve seen it all. Multiple times. And that’s just in the last two days. Fuck. I need coffee. Do we have coffee?”

“Why is the door locked?” she says, jiggling the handle.

“I was afraid you’d try to hide my shoes,” he says, swinging the door open. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Dr. Habib raise a hand and smile awkwardly at him from the couch.

“At least you’re wearing boxers,” MacKenzie says brightly.

Will, astonished, looks from MacKenzie to their guest.

“Which one of you would like to explain?” Will asks.


	20. Chapter 20

“I thought we could use some help,” MacKenzie says, “… and Dr. Habib kindly offered it.”

Will looks at his watch. “At 6:25 AM. On a statutory holiday. In a hotel room.” He looks MacKenzie up and down. “And where the hell are _your_ pants?”

“I’m wearing shorts. Nancy took the clothes we wanted along with the clothes we didn’t want. Hence, your shirt.”

“That makes absolutely no sense, but ... look,” he says as he walks over to Dr. Habib. “I have no idea what she said to you to make this happen, but I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out with us. Thank you for coming and I am truly sorry to have gotten you out of bed at this hour. Please add this visit to my tab at double -”

“Quadruple.” MacKenzie interjects. “And, no, Will – we _need_ his –“

“ _Quadruple_ your rate and I will see you …”

“Will!” she says, putting her hand on his arm to stop him. “Unless you’ve already made up your mind in my favor, we _need_ his help. Have you?”

He forces himself to look at her, half-ashamed and half afraid. He forces himself to remember that she’s the person who’s pulled him back from the brink more times than he cares to remember. Exhaustion, worry and anxiety are etched in her features. He did that to her and he hates himself for it, but he can’t see a way forward: instead of awakening with perfect clarity, he’d been in exactly same mental space he’d been in when he’d fallen asleep: with no fucking clue.

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” he says.

 _Damn the man and his stubborn, pig-headed ways_ , MacKenzie thinks _. How can he be so blind?_

“So …” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “You still want to break up with me over something that happened nearly a decade ago. I’ve been completely trustworthy since then, but _that_ doesn’t count, does it?” she says, her voice high and shrill. “God, Will. You won’t even _try_ to put what happened into context!”

“I’ve been trying to do that all night, Mac! It’s not happening.”

“Then we _need._ his. help!" she says, gesturing to Dr. Habib. "We don’t seem to be able to have a rational conversation about this on our own and it’s too important to leave to chance!” She takes Will’s hand, forcing him to keep his gaze trained on her. “You promised you would do whatever it takes to make this work, Will. Not whatever you _felt like_ doing but whatever it takes, and I am holding you to that!” she says, eyes blazing.

He puts his arm around her shoulder, steadying her. “Settle down, Sweetheart. You’re right. I did promise. And … fine … you’re also right in thinking I’m probably not going to be able to get to where I need to be on my own, so ..."

“Where do you need to be?” Dr. Habib asks.

“Sitting on that couch holding a cup of coffee.”

“With MacKenzie.” Dr. Habib says. “Where do you need to be with _MacKenzie_?”

Will glances at her, unable to hold her gaze. He knows truth must be the only basis of any exchange between them but first he needs caffeine. Lots of it. Or is it water? He needs something because last night’s exertions have left him dehydrated. “My head is killing me. Can’t we have coffee before the bloodletting begins?”

“The machine is over there,” MacKenzie says, gesturing to a little kitchenette across the room, “But breakfast will be here any minute. I got us a pot of coffee to share. In the meantime,” she says, grabbing her purse from the desk, “You can take these.” She plucks a bottle of Advil out of her purse and pours two capsules into her palm. “Here,” she says, reaching out her hand to him.

He stretches his hand out to meet hers and instead of allowing her to drop the capsules into his, he holds fast to her fingertips, unconsciously unwilling to let her go. A thought bubbles up, unbidden: _This is what’s real_ : the warmth, the delicacy of her fingers. He tries to drop her hand when he realizes what he’s done, but she holds fast to his fingers and miraculously gives voice to his thoughts. “ _This_ is what’s real, Billy. You and me. Right here and right now.”

“I know, Mac,” he says softly. “I _know_. I haven’t decided anything,” he repeats.

But she’s had enough of his indecision. “I don’t understand, Will! After everything we’ve been through … after everything we’ve said and done in the last ten days, three years, _eight_ years … how is there even a question in your _mind_?” she says, tears welling in her eyes.

“Mac, that is _not_ what this is about, okay? I love you. You _know_ that. You know exactly how I feel about you and how deep it goes. It’s just … what you told me last night … about what you were really up to eight-and-a-half years ago … it scares the shit out of me.” She nods reluctantly as he goes on. “Believe me. I would much rather believe that everything we have right now is the real deal and that what you were doing behind my back was an aberration. I want to believe that I can trust you. My future happiness depends on it.”

“What’s stopping you?” Dr. Habib asks.

Will turns to him. “I need to know she’s not going to screw me over. I need to know how to believe her when she says she's not a monster and that she only acted like one because of the head space she was in at the time.”

“I’ve obviously got a lot of catching up to do,” Dr. Habib says. “Can you start from the beginning? What happened when you left my office, MacKenzie?”

Breakfast arrives, so they sit down at the table. They tell him the whole story, culminating in a description of the fight they had last night. When they finish their tale, Dr. Habib looks from one to the other thoughtfully. Will desperately wants to believe and MacKenzie desperately wants him to believe, and it’s obviously up to him to provide the roadmap. He feels confident about what he’s about to say because he believes Will _can_ trust MacKenzie. He studied her closely as she related her tale, and her demeanor, her body language, and her story all add up.

“Look, Will,” Dr. Habib says, taking a sip of coffee. “There’s a common misperception people have about people who behave unethically. We assume that when they act, they can see the ethical choice quite clearly and simply choose not to make it. And that’s the basis of our disapproval, right? They knew it was wrong, but they did it, anyway? But the truth is, under some circumstances, we can be almost blind to the ethics of a situation.”

Will snorts. _As if she didn’t know her behavior was unethical? Come on. She felt nauseous about it, so she knew what she was doing was wrong_.

“I'm not making it up,” he says, holding up his hand. “It's true. There’s a concept called "bounded ethicality" that says we have a limited ability to behave ethically because we don't always see the ethical big picture. It has to do with the way the person frames the decision. Let’s say you’re thinking about a business decision. You might be thinking about it in the context of a business frame and the goals associated with that frame are things like winning or being successful. Studies have shown that people who operate from within that frame are more likely to lie than they would be if they were operating from an ethical frame, because the goals of each frame are different. And once you’re inside a frame, you become hyper-focused on meeting the goals associated with that frame, often to the point where other goals can fade from view. They may not disappear altogether, as in MacKenzie’s case, because, as you say, she knew what she was doing was wrong. But because her main focus was on reclaiming her self-esteem, she pushed the consequences of her decisions, which belonged to the ethical frame, to the side. You also said you thought her infidelity demonstrated a lack of common decency, right?”

MacKenzie suppresses the urge to roll her eyes as Will nods.

“But infidelity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Depression, anxiety, sleep deprivation and grief are powerful external forces.”

 _Fine._ Will can give him that. _Maybe._

Dr. Habib ignores Will's skepticism and continues. "You don’t have a blank slate consciousness that’s interpreting the world objectively; you have a built-in interpretative system - usually formed in childhood - that is actually deeply _sub_ jective and largely unconscious - that presents you with the world, and everyone’s interpretive system is different. For whatever reason, MacKenzie’s system, her whole identity, her self-worth, was bound up with Brian and his approval. It had been for years. Without it, she was adrift. Yes, you were in a relationship with her but, as she said, it was new, you didn’t know each other very well, and she didn’t feel comfortable being herself. Rightly or wrongly, Brian was the only person with whom she could let her hair down. She was comfortable with him in a way she wasn’t comfortable with you, simply because you hadn’t been together long enough. She was exhausted. She was desperate to get back to a place she could relax and be herself and … _loved_ for who she really was. She was unwilling to let you get to know the real her, so that left Brian.”

Dr. Habib looks at Will steadily. “I’d also argue that MacKenzie’s willingness to ‘throw you under the bus,’ as you put it, doesn’t reflect her untrustworthiness as a person so much as it does her tendency to downplay things she’d rather not deal with. That’s a common personality trait among people who cheat. They focus on what they’re going to gain from a situation rather than what they’re going to lose. They tell themselves it's not that bad, or, as MacKenzie did, that you were going to dump her anyway, so it didn’t matter that she was deceiving you.”

Will looks unconvinced.

“It’s not black and white, Will. Nothing ever is. I said all that to try to put MacKenzie’s behavior into context, but in general, I don’t think it’s helpful to dwell too much on the past. What you have to do now, the both of you,” he says, looking from MacKenzie to Will, “… is forget it and focus on the present and the future and decide what you want. And if what you want is each other, I think you can have it. Each of you just has to be a little more self-aware.”

MacKenzie relaxes slightly, exhaling softly with relief. Until she hears the next words out of Dr. Habib’s mouth.

“Of course, you may decide you simply can’t trust her,” he says to Will, “… and that no amount of work you could do would resolve your issues.”

 _Gee, thanks. That’s really helpful_ , MacKenzie thinks.

“But before you decide,” Dr. Habib says, “I’d advise you to take the long view. Think about what you want your life to look like ten, fifteen years from now. If you choose to do the work now, you might have a family, that house in the suburbs you told me about, and the companionship of the woman you love. I don’t have to tell you what the alternative looks like, because you’ve already lived it. Only you can decide if it will be worth the effort.”

Will is silent for a moment, considering. “So, you think I can trust her. That people can change.”

“People change all the time. With the right motivation.”

“And from what you’ve seen and heard, do you think she has that? The right motivation?”

“It’s really not my place to say.”

“Think you might make an exception? At quadruple the rate, I mean?”

The tension in the air is palpable. MacKenzie sits ramrod straight in her chair, blinking rapidly as she awaits his verdict, while Will leans forward, staring at the doctor intently.

“Will,” he says, smiling. “The ethics of my profession are clear. I’m not supposed to tell you what to do. Therapy’s about the two of us uncovering patterns of thinking and behavior that might be getting in your way and me showing you some of the tools that might help you perceive and navigate the world more effectively. In that way, I’m a bit like a hardware salesman: I can show you around the store, but only you can decide which tool to buy.”

“What if I just don’t know?” Will says quietly. “What if I have no idea what to do?”

“I’ll answer that question in a minute, but first I want to draw your attention to something: we’ve been talking for almost an hour and you haven’t looked at MacKenzie once.”

_Shit. I’m caught._

“Why is that?” Dr. Habib asks.

Will forces himself to glance at MacKenzie, whose eyes are bright. He looks away quickly. “Yeah, well …” he trails off.

“Why are you avoiding her?”

“I’m not,” he says defensively. “I haven’t had _occasion_ to look at her. What are you getting at?”

“I’ve been watching you. Your natural inclination is to look at her, but you avert your gaze right before you do. What’s that about?”

Will closes his eyes.

“Fine,” he says, glancing down at his hands in defeat. “I … uh … I can’t think straight when I look at her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I … uh … love her. And … uh … when I look at her … I can’t think – I can only … feel – and all I feel is that love. To the exclusion of everything else. Including reason.”

“I see,” Dr. Habib says, looking at MacKenzie, whose expression mirrors Will’s, unhappy and uncertain. “You don’t want to be distracted in your search for the evidence that would allow you make a rational decision.”

Will nods.

“Okay,” Habib says. “Let’s look at what could be used as evidence. Look at her behavior over the last three years. Has she or has she not proven her trustworthiness?”

Will glances at her again. “She has.”

“Okay, that’s something solid – something you can use to form the basis of your decision. But if you’re looking for something more, Will, I don’t think you’re going to find it. There’s absolutely no way for you to know whether she’ll betray you again. Which means you’ll never have the information you need to make a so-called ‘rational’ decision. And when the environment fails to provide all the information needed for thoughtful analysis, emotions can give useful guidance. So, you have two pieces of information that could be used – if not as evidence, then as considerations: one, what you just said. Two, you love her. What evidence is there on the other side? That she’ll betray you again?”

Will thinks about it for long moments. “None.”

“Well, I’d say that’s something to factor into your decision. I would also urge you to get out of your head and look at what’s right in front of you. _Her_ ,” he says, gesturing to MacKenzie. “ _That_ – what you feel for her? That is, in its way, evidence, too. Emotions are designed to evaluate and summarize experiences and inform our actions in a simple, quick way. They attempt to tell us if a situation is optimal or not aligned with our goals. The fact that you feel so strongly about her is your subconscious telling you that she aligns with your goals. Which is something you have to factor in, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Will says impatiently. “You’ve studied human behavior, you’ve studied _her_. Can't I just get your honest opinion? There are no tape recorders here and I’m not going to rat you out. I just – I know what I want to do but I need some reassurance it’s not going to bite me in the ass. Do _you_ think I can trust her?”

Dr. Habib gives in. "Okay, this is off the record but from what I can see, breaking up with you was the equivalent of touching a burning hot stove for MacKenzie. I don’t think she’d make the same choices again. As for the problem of downplaying things she’d rather not deal with, self-awareness is key, and I think she has that. If those are your only reservations about moving forward with her, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Will relaxes. He can choose to believe her. What’s stopping him, but fear? And, frankly, what other choice does he have?

“Okay,” he says, looking at her steadily now. He picks up her hand from where it rests next to her coffee cup. "I need you to be perfectly honest with me right now, Mac. No evasions, no half-truths. _Perfectly_ honest. Can you?”

"Yes."

“I’m willing to put the past behind us on one condition.”

“What?”

“I need you to promise me that for the rest of our lives you will be absolutely truthful with me. About _everything_. Because if you’re not, it will be disastrous. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

"Okay.”

“Okay what?”

"I’m in. I love you, and I’m in."

She’s exultant, overflowing with relief. It’s a quick rising of the blood, a fullness, a flaring of emotion that’s so overwhelming she can’t keep from expressing it. And so, she stands up, inadvertently knocking her napkin and utensils to the floor, and heads straight for Will. She bends down, grabs him by the back of the head and kisses him. Everything is made right by kissing him - for her and for him - and when she finally lets him go, he can't help grinning at her, amazed and inebriated by such an overt display of affection. “That was … wow,” he says, staring at her, his eyes aglow. “But … I'm afraid we may be freaking the good doctor out,” Will says, looking at Dr. Habib, who’s giving them an amused stare.

"I can't help it,” MacKenzie says to Will. “I love you too much and I’m too happy. Sorry," she says, turning back to Habib.

"No problem," he says, smiling. “Really.”

\----

As soon as Dr. Habib leaves, they go back to bed. She snuggles into Will’s side, her palm resting on his chest. She’s thrilled at the outcome this morning’s session, but there’s one more thing she wants to get off her chest, so she decides to give voice to it.

“Will?”

“Yeah?”

"Before we lay the past to rest, there’s one more thing I’d like to talk about.” She raises her head to look at him. “I’ve always wanted to ask you something. About our breakup. Do you mind?”

“No. What is it?” he says, stroking her hair.

She raises herself on one elbow to look at him. “Were you ever conflicted about ending it? Did you ever think maybe you could have handled it another way?"

"No. I didn't think I had a choice."

"Okay," she says, looking disappointed.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's just that you just threw me out of your life, even though we had something extraordinary together. You didn't even seem to consider that there might be other options. It was as if you were reading from a script.” She smooths her palm across his chest, considering. “Then again, maybe it's a cultural thing," she says carefully. "The French are much more likely to view an affair partner as just that - an affair partner. They're more willing to try to put what happened into context."

"What the hell does France have to do with it?” he exclaims, immediately on the defensive. “Are you blaming me for ending it?"

"No. I'm just saying I've always wished a little part of you hadn't been quite so sure you were doing the right thing. That while you were throwing me out a little part of you was asking yourself whether there was any way we could salvage the relationship."

"Of course, I didn't want to end it. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I didn't have a choice. What are you getting at? Are you saying you're with the French? That you'd be okay with it if I cheated on _you_?"

" _No_. But … that’s the other thing I wanted to talk about. Having been on the other side of it, I'd like to think I wouldn't immediately discard our relationship without first trying to understand how it happened. And before you get your knickers in a twist, I’m not saying this because I want to have an affair. I’m saying it in case _you’re_ ever tempted to.”

_“What?”_

“I’d like to put a plan in place … so we have a roadmap for what to do if it ever comes up. For how you’re going to respond if you’re ever tempted to have an affair. So you know what to do.”

“Uh … I think not having the affair is the appropriate response. Do we need a plan for that? _”_

“That’s too simplistic. I think the planned response should be that if you’re ever tempted, you’ll to agree to talk to me about it before you act on it."

"I’m not going to act on it.”

"Listen to me. Last night you were talking about the fallout from what happened before and … believe me, I'm not trying to put ideas into your head … but … I know that sometimes people who have been cheated on try to get a little payback … consciously or subconsciously. You punished me while we weren't together, but now that we are … I'm just afraid that if we start having problems you might be tempted to return the favor."

"I'm not a cheater, MacKenzie. I would never do that to you."

"I hope that's true, but we can't predict the future. Will you promise me? That if you’re ever tempted, you'll talk to me about it before you act?"

"Yes. I promise."

He's irritated by the turn this conversation has taken and can't quite shake the feeling that there's something she's not telling him, so he decides to probe a little further.

"What constitutes cheating? Should we define it?"

"Okay," she says slowly, apprehension bubbling in her chest. "Sex … kissing, intercourse, hand-holding, anything physical, obviously."

"What about emotional cheating? Does that count?"

"Like …?"

"Like … if I were to tell another woman intimate details about our life. Or your worst habits. If I were to tell someone something I should technically only be telling you."

"I don't know if I'd consider that cheating, but it's a slippery slope and I wouldn't like it."

"Neither would I."

"So … we'll agree we won't do any of those things.”

“Okay,” he says, still pissed.

He fires a question at her then, a bullet that demands her attention.

"While we’re on the subject, I’d like to ask you a question. About last night. With asshole number two. What did you feel when he was kissing you?"

After a lengthy pause in which she catalogues every feeling she experienced during those moments - from surprise to annoyance and finally panic - she answers the question he's really asking. "Nothing."

And that, he realizes too late, is not the whole truth, but a valid part of the truth. She was attracted to the man at the start of the evening, if not at the end. Which means … what? _Anything? Nothing?_

He knows that being faithful and monogamous is not natural for human beings. He knows it takes work. He knows that sooner or later everyone's tempted to stray, even if it's only a fleeting thought that isn't acted upon. He knows all that, and he also knows that in the end, she chose _him_. Which has to be the most important thing.

 _What are you doing?_ he asks himself. _Trying to stir up more trouble? Forget about it._

He exhales softly.

“Will?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No … It’s just … things between us – and in my head - can get out of control fairly quickly. Can we also agree we’ll put Habib or … some kind of family counselor … on retainer? I’d really like to know we have someone on standby who can help us before things get too out of hand.”

“That’s a good idea,” she agrees. She burrows into his side, luxuriating in the nearness of him. Happiness surges through her, a green vine stretching its fine tendrils throughout her body and bearing flowers through her skin.

“I love you so much, Will," she murmurs. "It's bursting out of my chest. It's terrifying."

“I love you, too.” And he couldn’t agree more. It _is_ terrifying.

**\--------**

**January 10, 2013**

_ACN_

"Listen up, everybody," Charlie shouts over the din of the newsroom. "I have an announcement to make."

Leona stands beside him, as close as she dares, wishing like hell she hadn't listened to her father when he'd told her Charlie was no good for her. It's been 40 years and she's as in love with him now as she had been then. It's just been her cross to bear.

Everyone stops and stares as Charlie fixes his gaze on Jane, who's looking morose in the corner of the newsroom.

"We just got the green light for a Sunday morning talk show to be run out of DC,” Charlie says. “Candace Allen is producing and believe me when I say it's going to blow _Meet the Press_ right out of the water. This kind of show needs the right anchor and we're very lucky to have found her right here in our newsroom. Jane will be anchoring the show and we could not be more pleased. She's anxious to return to her friends and family in DC and, although we'll miss her terribly, we understand and thank her very much for her contribution to NewsNight these past couple of months. Let's give a big hand to Jane."

The staff whoop and holler but Jane suspects they're cheering more because she's leaving than out of any gratitude for her service. However, she doesn't really care. She's come to despise every single one of them, including Charlie, so she'll be happy to be rid of them. She is curious, however, to learn the identity of her replacement. She guesses it will be Sloan but hopes it will be Elliot because he's the only person who's treated her with the respect she feels she's due.

"We also got the green light for a financial news show at seven o'clock,” Charlie is saying. “Sloan will be anchoring, and Jim will be producing. Which means NewsNight needs an anchor and an executive producer. Luckily, we found both in a husband-and-wife team who should be familiar to most of you. They start Monday."

The staff looks on nervously and Jane wrinkles her nose in surprise. _A husband-and-wife team? Who could that be?_

"So, without further ado, let's welcome NewsNight's new anchor and executive producer," Charlie calls through the door into the hallway. "That's your cue, guys," he yells.

"You forgot to say their names." Leona elbows him.

"They don't need an introduction," Charlie tells her.

The team gasps and Jane's eyes widen in surprise when Will and MacKenzie walk through the door, holding hands.

"Mom and Dad!" Neal calls out.

Everyone breaks into cheers and applause and huge grins break out over MacKenzie and Will's faces as they're enveloped in hugs from Maggie, Kendra, Neal, everyone in the control room and anyone who happens to be walking by the newsroom at that moment.

"Did Charlie say you're married?" Martin, who's standing near MacKenzie, asks.

"We are," MacKenzie says happily, "A week tomorrow," she says, looking around for Jim. She hasn't spoken to him since New Year's Eve, so he knows nothing about her reconciliation with Will and nothing about their wedding. She finds him off to the side, staring at her, a look of stunned disbelief on his face which is quickly turning to anger. She nods, acknowledging him, and smiles as Will puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close.

"Guys, hold on a minute," Will shouts over the din that breaks out the second MacKenzie confirms their wedded bliss. "Yes, we're married, and we'll tell you all about it, but I just want to echo Charlie's sentiments and thank Jane for doing a tremendous job with NewsNight these last couple of months. I've heard nothing but good things about you," he says, looking at Jane, "and I was really impressed the several times I watched the show."

Jane laps up the praise like a parched dog and everyone in the room tries not to roll their eyes, though they know he's just trying to grease the wheels in case they ever have the misfortune of dealing with her again. Will’s gaze lands on Jim.

"You did a great job, too, Jim," he says to the younger man, who's staring daggers at him. Will shakes it off and continues his spiel. "And the rest of you. And we're going to keep doing it. So, thank you, Jane, for setting a new standard for the show. And now, a word from our leader," he says, grinning at MacKenzie.

“Thank you. Listen up, everyone. We'll do a couple obligatory pieces on the inauguration next week, but the long-format ones will be on the president's proposed changes to gun control laws. On Monday, I want two ideas from each of you that approach the issue from a new angle. With potential sources. If you have questions or ideas you want to run by me first, call or e-mail me over the weekend. I have a new cell phone number, which I will e-mail to you. Otherwise, you can reach me at Will's place."

"Our place, you mean," Will corrects her, unable to resist nuzzling her ear.

"What did we talk about?" she says, elbowing him.

He glances around at the amused faces of their team. "Oh, you worry too much. These people are our family. And besides, I can't help myself," he says, kissing her on the cheek.

"Well, _try_ ,” she hisses. “You're undermining my authority.”

“Has he lost his marbles?” Leona whispers to Charlie.

“No,” Charlie answers, grinning broadly. “I think we’re getting a glimpse of the real Will.”

“A lovesick fool?” Leona says.

“Yep. And it’s damned good to see, wouldn’t you say?”

“As long as he can keep it together on the air.” Leona says, tuning in again to what Will is saying.

"We're all afraid of you, MacKenzie," Will is assuring her. "A little kissing doesn't make you any less formidable."

She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the faces of their team. "Carry on. We'll reconvene Monday morning at 7:30."

MacKenzie slips out from beneath Will's arm to approach Jim, who's shaking his head at her.

He doesn't wait until she's next to him to exclaim, "You _married_ him?" His voice, brittle with anger and incredulity, reaches Will, Leona and Charlie. Leona raises her eyebrow at Will, amused.

“Keep your voice down, Jim.” MacKenzie chides him.

"After everything he put you through?" he hisses, an octave lower.

"You're lucky you're no longer my senior producer because I'd have to fire you for insubordination," she says coolly, looking back at Will. "Let's take a walk," she says, putting her arm around his shoulder and leading him out into the hallway. She takes him into an empty edit bay and closes the door behind her.

He stares at her, unable to believe she married that _ass_ , the man who's treated her like shit, who's spent the last three years putting her through hell.

"What the hell happened?" he spits out.

"We got married."

“So you said. _Why?_ ”

“The same reason anyone gets married: because we love each other, of course.”

"He fired you, he did a thousand other shitty things to you and yet you _married_ him?”

“Indeed, I did. Are you looking forward to the new show? How are you and Maggie?”

“Yes, and we’re fine. Please don’t change the subject.”

"Look, Jim. I don't expect you to understand. He hasn't exactly been on his best behavior since you've known him, but you have to trust me on this."

"You always defended him. No matter how badly he treated you, you defended him. I assumed it was because you had Stockholm syndrome and I guess I was right."

"I defended him because I knew that wasn't the real Will and I was sure the heart of the man I loved still beat within his chest. And it does. We love each other, Jim. As much as we ever did. All the other crap has been cleared away and the only thing left is that love. Everything that happened before is of no consequence."

"How can you just forget everything he did to you?"

"Because he explained it to me. He wanted me back, but he couldn't forgive me and sometimes the frustration would just seep out. You'll see. Over the next few months, as you get to know the real Will you'll begin to understand who he really is. I promise. And you'll understand."

"I hope you're right. I’m sorry to say it, but I hope this doesn't bite you in the ass."

"It won't. I'm too damned happy. _We're_ too damned happy. It's sickening, really."

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in," MacKenzie calls and Will walks in, looking steadily at Jim, who has to admit Will looks more relaxed, less wound up than he's ever seen him. And the adoring way he's looking at MacKenzie is disconcerting as hell.

"Will?" she says, putting an arm around Will's waist.

"Yes?"

"Show Jim the man I fell in love with. I don't think he can give us his blessing until he sees who you really are."

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"Don't be an ass."

"I think even the man you fell in love with was a bit of an ass."

"Yes, you were ... somewhat … but for the last three years it's been your main personality trait. Let him see the real you: 5% ass and 95% loving, devoted and non-angry perfection."

“Well, that shouldn't be a problem. Since I no longer have to pretend I’m not in love with you,” he says, unable to resist putting his arm around her and pulling her into his side.

Jim snorts.

“Don’t believe me?” Will asks, too damned happy to be perturbed by Jim’s insolence. “Did you know that every time I bit her head off it was because I desperately wanted to kiss her?"

"No," MacKenzie interjects. "He thinks it's because you’re a bonafide ass."

"Well, I acted like one, I’ll give you that. But that’s all in the past,” he says expansively. “I’m a new man. Free to express what I really feel, and by God, it's fantastic. I get to kiss her whenever I want. Because she’s my _wife_. Can you believe it, Jim? She’s my _wife_. It’s a fucking miracle."

"Too much information, Will. And _not_ anytime you want."

"Watch me."

She smiles at him indulgently and wraps her arm more tightly around his waist as she turns her attention back to Jim. "Can we have lunch on Monday? 1:00?"

"Alright," he says, looking from Will to MacKenzie.

"Good. I'll meet you in the cafe upstairs. Shall we go home, Billy?" she says, smiling up at him.

"Wherever you want to go, Sweetheart," he says, unable to resist kissing her again. "Your wish is my command. For the rest of my life."

"Really? Every day?"

"Every single one."

**\--------**

**January 16, 2013**

MacKenzie lives with Will in complete contentment. She loves everything about him: his woolen bedroom slippers, the way the hair falls over one side of his forehead, his defects, his devotion, his uncertainties. It’s all miraculously real: all her dreams of the last six years have been miraculously, beautifully realized.

When he speaks to her, she doesn’t merely hear his intent or his words; his voice reverberates throughout her body like an internal caress. It comes straight from him into her. If she had to, she could distance herself from the Will others see, but she will never be able to distance herself from the Will whose voice stirs her core. Nobody else knows the Will who talks as unevenly, as blunderingly to her, whose words rush and tumble out, fueled by emotion, as if the temperature and climate of her affection make it easy for him to reveal his deepest self. And when they’re at work, separated by walls and mundane tasks and preoccupied by shows to get on the air, she misses him.

“I have a problem,” MacKenzie says from the doorway to his office.

“What is it?” he says, looking up from the script he’s writing.

She’s standing there, tall, and languid and beautiful, with startled eyes and a deep, passionate soul, and it occurs to him again just how unbelievable it is that she’s his _wife_.

“I don’t like my desk.”

He squints in confusion. Last year, she’d spent two weeks testing the ergonomics of every desk in New York City before finally settling on the one she’s complaining about.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too far away from yours.” 

“It’s next door, Mac.”

A memory of this morning passes through her, of him awakening and taking her into his arms. He is so exquisitely tender with her—always putting a warm hand on her, offering her a caress that slips into some nook in her body or placing an open mouth on her skin. He can’t walk beside her without clutching her and she needs that. She’s grown to depend on that.

“Exactly. We’ve been inseparable for weeks and it just feels wrong to be so far away from you. I hate it.”

“You want to share an office?”

“No, that’s still too far away. I want to share a desk.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, we have to do something.”

“We do?”

“Yes. What do you propose?” she says, plopping herself on his couch and looking at him expectantly.

“I just heard about this problem 20 seconds ago. I’m not proposing anything.”

“Well, I have an idea.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Did you know your desk comes with an extension? Millie told me there’s extra one in the closet upstairs. It would give you – well, me, really - an extra three feet. We could sit right next to each other. Not even a table leg between us. All we need is a new desktop, which I've taken the liberty of ordering.”

“Really? Pretty confident, aren't you?"

"I have until noon to cancel the order. If you don't agree. But you do, don't you?" she says, coming over to stand beside his chair. She loops her arms around his shoulders and the scent of her shampoo wafts tantalizingly into his nose as she whispers into his ear. “Admit it. Being so far away from me during work hours has been torture, hasn’t it?”

“I  _have_  missed you, it’s true,” he admits. "But how am I supposed to get any work done? People are traipsing in and out of your office all day long.”

“I wouldn’t be in here all the time. Just when it’s quiet. From two to four, mainly – when I’m going over scripts.”

“Won’t people think that’s odd?”

“Since when do you care what people think?"

“I’m always going to come out on the losing end of these arguments, aren’t I?"

“This wasn’t an argument, and you didn’t lose. You won. We both did.”

_THE END._


End file.
